#yeah. yeah. I'll go make the comm sheet now

[b4kuch1n]

fucking hell man something mildly fucked just broke. I'll open for digital ink comm tomorrow

[angiemaniac]

WIP WHENEVER

Thank you for tagging me @falmerbrook !

Sooo, I'm still in a situation where I don't have a house. I've mostly got WIPs.

I'm tagging: @caliblorn @the-mad-tinkerer and @renthari-from-telvanni (if you've been tagged or you don't wish to participate, no pressure!)

Here's some doodles of stuff I am working on!

Rough color/ reference sheet for my Nerevarine (very old sketch I'll improve)

I may or may not be getting into Baldur's Gate 3. I now have a tiefling monk I wanna make comics on

Also, doodle for a friendo that's long overdue cuz of my extended move.

Haha yeah, sorry I been inactive. Legit, almost got scammed during my move, so I am just going to try to do comms starting tomorrow or later this week to help with expenses. But craziness aside! Here are my WIPs for the time being

[mirukimary]

My Art Summary for 2022!

(Under the cut I'll go into more details for each month, for memory's sake. Warning: It's LONG.)

Come one, come all for your opportunity to see all of the drawings I should have posted but never did! The ones that make me work harder every december to remember when tf i drew what! The ones that, in missing, make it seem like i only draw once a year--! (going through my twitter media tab is depressing LMAO)

JANUARY

[Pictured: Iola in Prenda clothing. There was a Twitter Post going around asking you to draw your WoL in your country's traditional clothes. Ofc I didn't skip the opportunity to do it! And drew my BF's WoL too for good measure. Still my fav drawing of the year!]

Also worked on a VTuber model for a friend (i drew it as a bust january last year; then this year was asked to expand it to full body). It was very challenging, but also fun!

For the rest, I designed some backstory NPCs for Asera (Daimyorus childhood friend, his goddess and a mage that helped us multiple times); and drew some twitch emotes for a client. Was a fresh, fun start. I remember having a lot of fun and finding that month quite relaxing.

(Goddess Rondra, Mage Rupin & elf-friend Pedro (RIP))

FEBRUARY

[Pictured: My friend's bunny boi~]

Further work was done on the VTuber model, a lot of parts that weren't quite working before were redrawn. He was taking form!! Now that most of the work was done, also did a ref sheet to go with it. I couldn't wait to see him moving!

That's when I started preparing to open commissions for realz, trying to think of prices and set up examples. I drew some BGs and the Complexity Guide, and set most of the boring things up. I plan to open comms either Jan 2023 or February 2023, so let's hope all the work paid off~

MARCH

[Pictured: 'Smile at the Blue Skies', or "Fuq i need a bust sketch ref for my commission examples page". Sounds a bit less dreamy now, huh? LMAO]

But yeah, most of the month was dedicated to the VTuber model, working to fix it as the rigger found issues. Ref Sheet was finished this month. I'll stop mentioning the model, but the back and forth lasted till june or so?? Had to fix all of his toggles; and redraw his entire hair to allow for a better 3D effect when moving (it went from 3~6 layers to over 20). This was my first time working on vtuber models, so there was A LOT to learn. It surprising how many pitfalls there is in vtuber making. I'm very proud of how it turned out, and eternally grateful to the rigger (and to my friend) for being so patient with me. I was sent a small demo of what he looks like, and seeing your drawing move so beautifully like that feels magical!! There's still much to design and draw before he can debut, but hope you can support him then!

Oh yeah, there was this attempt too:

APRIL

[Pictured: 'With Friends' the commission I worked on through March and April. Extra special because that's my friend & his pets there!]

Also sketched some ideas for illustrations of our RP characters (hi Irene), but never really completed them:

It feels so long since I made these... Double checked like 3 times to make sure it wasn't April 2021 LMAO

I REALLY want to revisit some of these now.

MAY

[Pictured: #XIVARTBASH drawing, featuring Nero.]

Also drew the catgirl from Love2DrawManga. Didn't do much this month (...or did but forgot). I believe I worked on some BGs I can't show, but these are still very much stuck at WIP :(

JUNE

[Pictured: Nia's WoL, Mat. Just a smol gift for someone that brings a lot of joy to FFXIV Twitter.]

So... I completelly forgot I was drawing my OCs outfits [facepalm]:

(Don't mind the two in the corner, I don't want my essay to get hit with Tumblr hammer LMAO They're nowhere near done). But yeah, these are my OCs from 'Elder''. I've had them since childhood, and still love them, even if I gave up on the book idea. Will make an actual post once all is done and I can go back to their character illusts uwu

JULY

[Pictured: Cade from 'Still Shining'. Working on this was an amazing experience~ Won't go on detail bc I already did, but still glad for the experience!]

Instead I'll talk about... Art Fight month!!!

SO.MUCH.FUN

I'm 100% going back next year! This event just proved how much I love drawing people's OCs. I really want to be a commission artist so I can do that for a living. Sadly I didn't get to draw everyone I wanted, plus I wasted a lot of time trying to look through OCs while the website was dying LMAO Next year I'll come prepared!

Also I drew that Spring picture to use as a reference in her profile there. I missed drawing her!

AUGUST

[Pictured: Commission for 'Under Maintenance'.]

Mostly worked on commemorative stuff. Anniversary chibi for Brie; that Under Maintenance pic; Thank You for DL message for 'Loving You Fully' and 'Still Shining'. Also designed some outfits (and painted some sprites) for Mythic Meetup: Midnight Mystery (not released yet!).

Started a bday gift for my boyfriend, but something kept looking 'off' about it so I didn't finish in time. Turns out it was overblended... And will require a redraw. Sorry boyfriend TT But my wife (tm) needs to look perfect!!

Also made the design for our new RP characters:

(mine is the not-cat girl, obviously)

...And I belive this is when I made that cursed Yshtola feeding Zero picture? Yeah.

SEPTEMBER

[Pictured: Witch Torunn]

Made the YCH bases, as well as 3 examples. I have no memories of this month, but Windows says this sketch is from september:

OCTOBER

[Pictured: Old OC redraw, for my Commission Guide. Decided to do it after a client asked for clarification if an old drawing was halfbody or fullbody (august last year, Torunn sitting down).]

They're really old OCs of mine. Ever RP-ed in Deviantart groups? I did!!

Cecilia (<-) is pretty much a Iola prototype: salve maker and potion seller who lives with her dad (who taught her the craft). One day he collapses during work, and Cecilia ends up overworking herself to afford his medicine and other living expenses. In desperation, she joins The Guild as a novice magician for money, and gets herself involved on a war she never intended to join.

Celticca (->) is a archer and aspiring musician who wants to make the most beautiful song (tm) for her family. She's very sweet, but naïve and scatterbrained. I didn't have much planned for her, but had a lot of fun seeing her constantly get involved with Evil/Neutral alligned characters w/o noticing LOL

....Now that I think about it, she's literally a FFXIV bard, before I knew anything about XIV.

The rest of October was focused on Magni's Birthday Project and my YCH Halloween Commissions.

...And THIS:

Halloween pictures of our current RP characters \O/ To go with our halloween session~ Also drew these two for our halloween one-shot:

Ellie (<-) and Hadrianus (->). Ellie is a yandere witch I made as a joke and fell in love with. Hadrianus is my BF's wizard. Yes, he looks like Dr. Strange. Yes, that's the joke. The 3rd character was Rosemary, but I didn't ask to draw her so she's missing :( I do want to draw all of them at some point. We accidentally made "Spy x Family, but it's horror and Loid wants to run away" LOOOL I love this trio!!

Made 2 adoptables, but since they went unsold I decided to remove them and redraw for next year:

(The neutral pose doesn't help them stand out ^^;; Sorry bbys)

Also sketched Julio from Atelier Sophie~

(Hoping to finish it early next year. He's not the only idea I had while playing, but other stuff took priority"")

October was so much fun!! Sadly it let me completely drained by the end of it. I got hit with such a HUGE art block it was like my hands just... Forgot how to draw. Everything came out weird. Sadly, that resulted on me having to drop a drawing I was making for Brie :/ Hoping I can pick it back up soon... (better late than never right?)

It's around that time I decided to work on an AI redraw. Used Crayon (old Dall-e Mini) to create some monstrosity for me and tried to turn it into an actual drawing.

The monstrosity:

The Work In Porgress:

This drawing is a bit painful to look at, because of all the self doubt and bad feelings attached to it. But I want to finish it someday. My prompt was something stupid like 'cute anime girl having fun'. I want to remain true to the prompt and make her meeting with lil ladybug feel warm and fun!

...Like of the feelings I was missing back then, and am just now starting to get back.

TL;DR: Take breaks or you'll break.

NOVEMBER

[Pictured: Chibi Adra for Kyou.]

Managing burnout through most of it. Eventually just decided to stop fighting and played games instead. Even with the frame drops, Atelier Ryza is pretty fun~ Hoping to go bk to it soon.

At some point my boyfriend said I should just draw things to have fun for a bit. I followed his advice...

DECEMBER

[Pictured: Art Party (DracoLunari's WoL)]

...By drawing Iola as a sheep herder. It was much more fun than it sounds. I didn't care for polish at all, just seeing Iola in a cute outfit LMAO It's... A mess of a drawing. But it's MY mess of a drawing. I feel this thought calmed my mind a lot.

Also went for my first ever Art Party. It was fun, tho brain did get in the way after a bit, as expected ^^;;; Still want to go to these more often!! It's fun to draw & chat with others.

For random drawings, all I have is a(n embarrassing) fanart of Elf from Isekai Ojisan. I'll post eventually..... (that anime is hilarious)

For now I have a commission and a collab to take care of, and a certain Moon Goddess to draw as soon as possible~ Will be doing my best these next few days, and hope Iola can be my sheperd and guide me to the path of 'having lots of fun drawing again'.

ONWARDS TO 2023...

May my year be filled with bad drawings that I love;

And good drawings I'm proud of.

May your year give you the same

And everything else you wish for!

Thanks @/Taxkha on twitter for the Template!

[starry-storms]

Jason stared down as the cars passed below. He can hear Dick teasing Damian about something. Jason wasn't listening close enough to actually catch the topic. It's friendly, and Damian doesn't seem overly agitated by it yet.

Bruce apparently wants to stop it from becoming too agitating. "Be nice, Nightwing," he hears Batman say.

"I'm being nice!" Dick said, "I'm just being a little annoying."

"You're always a little annoying," Tim said.

"Hey!"

"You should have seen how annoying he was in his emo phase," Jason said as he headed down a fire escape to the street.

"It wasn't an emo phase," Dick said quickly.

"Boys," Bruce said tiredly.

Jason laughed. He could hear his brothers and sister laugh, too. He absently wondered when he started thinking of them all as siblings as he approached a food stand.

"I'm grabbing a chili dog," he said, "anyone want some?"

"Can you get me one?" Cassandra asked, "I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to. I got this one."

"Can I get one too?" Tim piped.

"Only if you pay me back tomorrow," Jason replied.

"She doesn't have to pay you back," Tim said indignantly.

"I like her more," Jason said as he paid for three chili dogs. He actually had no intention of making them pay him back. They'd often buy food during long nights, and money was never exchanged. If the bill was particularly high, the child who bought it would find a $100 bill somewhere in their living space within the next few days.

"I'm going to get Little Bird and I a snack from the vegetarian-friendly pasta place he likes," Dick said.

Jason was already headed back to a nice, secluded rooftop. "Yeah okay. Come get your food Timmy."

"It's Tim."

"No real names," Bruce reminded them.

He grinned to himself at his brother's reaction. He curled himself against a wall. As he ate, his eyelids drooped. This was nice, actually. The little bickering in his ear was nice. It was accompanied by the sharp scent of a storm rolling in. He might call it a night soon.

Or now. Just five minutes. He'd be awake before they noticed.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Tim sighed. He had been too far for his liking. His food would be cold by the time he got there.

"Hood," he announced as his feet hit the rooftop.

Jason's head had fallen to the side, a half eaten chili dog in his lap. Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm going to wake up Hood and tell him to go find an actual bed to sleep in," he announced over the comms. They all dosed off pretty often, considering their schedule. Tim went to shake Jason's shoulder, but stopped short. Something was off about his silhouette. It took him a moment to realize that Jason's chest was not rising and falling.

He narrowed his eyes and pressed two fingers to Jason's neck.

Nothing.

Panic hit him like a tidal wave. "He's dead."

"What?" Multiple people shouted in Tim's ear.

His knees hit the roof as he looked for an injury. He wrestled Jason down onto his back. "Starting compressions now."

He pumps and pumps. He breathes into Jason's mouth, forcing oxygen into him. He feels Jason's ribs start to complain, but he doesn't slow down. He's sweating and it's mixing with the tears flowing out of his domino mask. One of Jason's ribs breaks, and he can feel it give way.

His heart doesn't restart.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Jason wakes up to pain in his left side. A lot of pain. Instinctively, he reaches toward it. Someone catches his wrist, and Jason opens his eyes.

It's Tim. Tim's other hand is on his chest, frozen mid-compression. The kid's domino mask is falling off, as they typically do when too many tears wear off the adhesive.

Dick is kneeling by Tim. There's a broken, breathy noise clawing its way up his throat. It sounds like he would be screaming if he could stop gasping for just a second long enough to get air. His mask is off too. His eyes are reddened, with tears falling down his cheeks. Damian's hand is on Dick's shoulder. The youngest bird is purposefully looking away, hiding his face with his hood.

Bruce is standing nearby. His face is the color of a sheet and there's tears freely flowing from under the cowl. Cassandra seems to helping him stay standing, but she isn't even looking at Jason. She's staring into the distance, eyes glassy.

"What happened?" He manages to stutter out.

All of their miscellaneous noises seem to halt. Tim let's go of Jason's wrist and checks for a pulse in his neck.

"Your... your heart isn't beating," he says, fumbling over the words.

It all clicks into place. "It stops sometimes," he admits, "it'll start again in a few minutes"

"What?" Dick chokes out.

Jason tries to sit up, but the burning pain in his side keeps him on his back. "It happens when I fall asleep sometimes."

"And you didn't think to let us know?" Damian demands, now looking at him. The kid looks angry, but his eyes had tears in them too.

"I kind of forgot about it."

Tim is staring at him, jaw dropped. Dick is staring too, wiping at his own eyes.

"I think I broke your rib," Tim admits.

"Yeah," he groans, "yeah, I can feel that Timmy. You want an award?"

Tim doesn't protest the name this time.

A large hand comes down on Tim's shoulder. He moves out of Bruce's way.

He kneels down and Jason swears that Bruce is the one that looks like a corpse.

The color is slowly returning to his face, but there are streaks where tears were still falling. He's shaking, visibly shaking, as he reaches for Jason.

An armored hand cups his cheek. Bruce's thumb runs along his cheekbone.

"Let's..." Bruce begins but the words seen to fail him. Slowly he leans down and presses a kiss to Jason's head.

Jason wonders if he did die again. Bruce had only ever kissed his head one other time. If hugging the bat was rare, getting kisses was practically a myth.

"Let's get you home," he whispers, his thumb still running back and forth across Jason's face.

Jason is going to pretend that he doesn't feel his heart start again when he hears that sentence.

"Okay."

Getting someone with a broken rib into a car, even the batmobile, is difficult. Tim is helping Bruce, because Dick still looks as though he's going to throw up. He's gone quiet, and is holding Damian like the kid is a teddy bear. Jason wonders if he imagines Damian tolerating it, and telling Dick that it's okay?

Cassandra can barely look at him. Her eyes are haunted by something she doesn't seem to want to say. Her breathing is heavy. Similarly, Tim keeps looking away from him, like he thinks if he stares Jason will disappear. Bruce, however, is staring at him.

He's back at the cave soon. The painkillers help. He closes his eyes on the medical cot. Bruce's calloused thumb is running back and forth over the hand he's holding. Someone puts a soft blanket over him, and when he cracks his eyes open, Dick is tucking the blanket around his shoulders.

"Go to sleep, Jason," Bruce says at some point. His voice is quiet. It's gentle, "I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

Prompt:

After Jason’s resurrection he finds that his body works… wrong somehow.

Some days he forgets to breathe until he wants to say something and finds there’s no air in lungs. Other days his body goes eerily cold until someone points out that his lips are blue and he needs to warm up.

And some days his heart stops beating in his sleeps.

It’s fine, really. It always starts again eventually a short while after he wakes up. And yeah, of course it was a bit scary the first couple times it happened but it’s not like his resurrection and Pit-dip came with an instruction manual, so this is probably pretty normal stuff, all things considered. He is kind of the definition of “undead”.

The real trouble starts when he forgets to mention those little details to the Batfamily when he stays over for the night.

[fainthedcherry]

Tumblr's editor crashed when I was writing entire novels over here in the desc about this drawing. Sucks as I wasss pouring my heart and process out here annd it's all gone but my fault for tryna split up 2 posts ig LOL.

So I'll keep it short, out of frustration, in order to not upset myself. xD

AFTEREDIT: IT CRASHED BUT IT SAVED PART OF MY OG DESC WOOOO-

This is the lineup of my main storyline. I plan to upload that on my upcoming spam for TH too, very important ref!! If I get around to it between working between comms and OTA's, I'll create the 2nd one, where more background characters and stuff are on it, that didn't make it to the 1st sheet due to canvas size limitations.

This drawing took me collectively 3 days to finish, past-sketches. The sketches were done half a year ago, which might explain, why some stuff looks wonk and where I forgor to fix some old anatomy mistakes. xD

For now, enjoy the lineup and until another soon-to-be post, after I'm done perusing the con for interns tomorrow. xD Hopefully keeping you a bit more up to date now between my posts, since I know I have a bad tendency to just leave the internet for mental health reasons and then come back, as if I didn't just leave or didn't say a peep for weeks, when not art related,,,

Until again!! Have a great rest of your morning/eveninggg~

I finished this sheet inbetween taking resume and OTA/comm breaks (yea I picked my motivation back up again to work on owed stuff sdkflsdlkg)

I remember typing out my favs so: Chloe, Leo, Finn, Marco, Zack, Arachne. Just the expressions and poses are priceless to me so. xD

Going to an intern mini-con tmrrw so hopefully I'll build up some connections to a few businesses that might want my help so? Yeah, gunna try my best guys. dxfvmfdggkdf

Myyy patience is running thin with typing this soo, yea. xD If you want the height-sheet for yourself, that one's completely F2U, I'll post it next in a sec, if I can edit descs, I'll add a link down here to it, if you were searching for a height sheet, instead of art LOL.

LINK. BOOP!

Gunna also mention manually who made who:

(ALL THE CREATORS GOT BOTH TOYHOU.SE AND DEVIANTART WITH THE SAME USERNAMES!)

-Diego was made by Adoptiverse

-Bryan was made by MarbleDimension / SALEMGRIM

-Finn & Marco were made by HeavenlyHellfire (Hollowed-Hartlocke made Finn's colors)

-Ménos's most design was made by Hollowed-Hartlocke

-Aimee originally belonged to SeveredRose

-Arachne was made by SeveredRose

The rest are all made by myself, lol. You can probably tell which ones I made, since I for some reason fear neon colors and unlogical colors on mammals, I guess. xD

That should be all. Check those guys out, they make rlly solid art/designs IMHO. : )

HAVE A GREAT REST OF YOUR DAY/NIGHT !!!! : ))

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: lmaooooooo this just gets gayer and gayer 💀💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Do you copy? This is a code red."

The rising sun makes its way through the blinds in Max's bedroom, its gentle yellow rays split into several thin beams and casting out over the three sleeping bodies splayed over one another on the floor. El's body still curled into Y/n's arm, her hair a mess. Y/n was splayed out on her stomach, crooked, as her head had edged its way onto Max's pillow and her legs fell over El's. All the while, a sleeping Max had resorted to using the back of Y/n's shoulder as a pillow.

And they were snug as can be, tucked away in sleep, drool threatening to drip from their parted mouths as Lucas's desperate voice rings out from Max's super com.

"I repeat, this is a code red."

The device seems to grow louder with every word, slowly but surely pulling the girls from sleep.

"Max. Do you copy?" Max lifts her head from Y/n's shoulder, scooching back onto her pillow, and begins palming the ground under her bed. "This is a code red."

Her hand finally finds the comms and she senses El lazily rise up onto her elbow. She presses the button and seethes into the microphone.

"Shut. Up."

She slams the antenna down and shuts off the device, throwing it back under the bed. Y/n hums into the pillow, eyes still closed.

"Mm... what's red?" She asks through clenched teeth, still much too tired to even move her jaw.

"Nothing," Max yawns.

She turns over in bed, nestling back into the rainbow sheets and finding herself nearly nose to nose with Y/n as El rubs the sleep from her eyes, finally joined them. El just settles her head back into her pillow, her tangled hair still falling over her face and blocking out the sun. She let out a soft yawn, letting sleep return to her as she snuggled back into Y/n's arm happy and warm.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Lucas stares at his super com in light shock as he looked between his friends perched on either side of him on the basement couch.

"She turned it off."

Simultaneously, Will, Lucas, and Mike's eyes all jump to the phone hanging on the wall.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The blaring ring of Max's telephone is the next thing to wake them, and Y/n groans. Max shoots up in anger, her long red hair falling over her glaring face.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." She seethes, pulling herself up to her feet.

"Tell him we're not home," Y/n mumbles, still fighting a losing battle with sleep and a foggy mind.

Max stomps across the floor, strategically maneuvering around her friends, and rips the phone off its receiver.

"I'm sleeping. Go away,"

"Max, this is Will—" her hand caught mid-air, the boy's words barely registering to her in time. Reluctantly, she brings the phone back up to her ear. "I need you to stay on the line, and please just listen."

When Will doesn't hear the click of the dial tone, he breathes a sigh of relief. His eyes dart over his shoulder at his waiting friends trying to feed him the words but he ignores them, turning away.

Max frowns into the phone at what he says next, his voice going pleading.

"Is Y/n there?" There's a pause, and Max frowns down at the phone when she thinks she hears light shushing. "And El? Are you guys all together?"

Okay, now she was bugging out a little.

"Why?" She asks, an edge gradually returning to her voice out of concern.

She glances over her shoulder at her two best friends; Y/n had finally opened her eyes and was trying to make sense of her surroundings as she squinted through the sunlight and El was flowing up at her, worried.

"Just, stay together, okay? Something bad happened, is happening, whatever. We don't really know, but we can't take any chances."

"Okay, what are you talking about? What's going on?" She presses.

"Just meet us at Mike's house, and I'll explain. We all will. Just get over here, quickly."

"What?"

"Hurry!"

And then the line went dead.

Max held the phone in her hand, her stare drifting off as Will's words echoed in her mind.

"What'd he say?" El asked.

"Yeah," Y/n yawned, finally pulling herself into a sitting position, her face puffy from sleep. "is everything okay?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Try Dustin again," Mike says, turning to Lucas.

"He's not answering," Lucas says.

"So, try him again,"

Lucas bites back a sigh and returns to his comms with a sigh. Will picks the phone back up, shooting Mike a knowing look.

"I'll try their house,"

Lucas shoots him a thankful look before returning to his mindless search.

"Dustin, do you copy? I repeat... this. is. a. code red."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dustin watches from the very same ledge as Lynx Transportation hauls a cart full of shipments from Kauffman Shoes and Imperial Panda. But his mind was still spinning, trying to formulate possible answers as to just what he was dealing with as he scouts for their routine.

His eyes had caught on the third armed officer who approached the keypad holding a small plastic card, and Dustin made a mental note.

"That keycard opens the door, but unfortunately the Russian with this keycard has a massive gun,"

Sure enough, the metal doors swung open and the cart is pushed inside. Apart from his cautious glare on the armed guard standing watch, his eyes try to catch whatever lays beyond the threshold.

It looked to Dustin to be a storage room no bigger than his living room, stacked with similar boxes.

"Whatever's in this room, whatever's in those boxes, they really don't want anybody finding it," Dustin concludes as he paces the back room of Scoops Ahoy.

Robin and Steve sit opposite one another in thought.

"But there's gotta be a way in," Robin mutters.

"Well, you know..." Steve stops twirling his hat, quickly reshaping the top with a quick puff of air before dropping it on the table and leaning in with a serious tone. "I could just take him out,"

"Take. Who. Out?" Robin blinked.

"The Russian guard," he answers obviously.

Robin leans back in her seat, nodding sarcastically at him through wide eyes and Steve scoffs.

"What? I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his keycard. It's easy,"

"Did you not... hear the part about the massive gun?" Dustin asks with crossed arms.

"Yes," Steve snarks, surprised. "Dustin, I did. And that's why I would be... sneaking."

"Ahh," Dustin nods. "Well, please, tell me this, and be honest, have you ever actually..." Dustin gives an all too casual shrug, knowing exactly what button he was pushing. "won a fight?"

"OH-kay, that was one time—"

"—Twice. Jonathan. Year prior?"

"Uh, listen. That doesn't count,"

"Why wouldn't it? Because it looks like he beat the shit out of you."

Robin finds herself laughing, lazily rolling her eyes across the shop as the two continue to bicker.

"It was—"

Her grin slowly falls when her eyes catch something in the corner.

"—You got a fat lip, crooked nose, swollen eye, a lot of blood,"

"...things all added up, yeah they sound bad but..."

As the thought grew into an idea, the grin returned to Robin. "That just might work,"

She was out of the backroom, hand diving into the tip jar faster than they could blink. They scrambled to the window in a baffled frenzy.

"Robin,"

She didn't answer, and when she made a break for the exit, Steve and Dustin tumbled out from the back room.

"Hey, Robin! Hey, what— what are you doing?"

"I need cash," she explains, backing out of the store.

"Well, half of that's mine," he pouts. "Where're you going?"

"To find a way into that room, a safe way. And, in the meantime, sling ice cream, behave, and don't get beat up," she says with an excited smirk. "I'll be back in a jiff!"

With a quick two-finger salute, she had disappeared into the crowd leaving her privately self-proclaimed Dingus Duo at home base.

Steve sighs, looking to Dustin only to find him licking the scooper.

"Oh, dude," he scolds, yanking it out of his hands and returning it to his sling with a twirl. "Come on, man, not my scooper,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The trip to Mike's house had indeed been a quick one. When Max had relayed the message, a grave face became all of them. El and Y/n looked at each other and knew; their fears were being realized. And Max knew there was no more denying it, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter how much she needed to.

"I didn't think it was anything at first," Will says.

He was before his friends - most of them anyway - all of them seated around the coffee table in Mike's basement. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Y/n until he had seen her, nor her him. And neither had left each other's side since they gathered. She was sat beside him on a low footstool, El to her right on the upholstered chair, and him on her left; perched on the arm of the couch to the far right of Mike and Lucas.

Concern was etched on her features, as it was on all of them as they listened intently.

"I mean, I think I just didn't want to believe it." He sighs, locking eyes with Y/n knowingly. "The day I first felt it was at Day of the Dead,"

《•••》

And not unlike only months short of a year prior, when he felt himself ensnared in the terror and icy grip of the monster that lurked in shadows only he could see, Will Byers could feel his skin tightening painfully as goosebumps gripped his neck. It was a chill he hoped he'd never feel again, a chill that had nearly destroyed him and his family and friends. And Y/n. The passionate, fiery, hatred for the girl was the only thing about this icy monster that burned brighter than the horrifying memories it left with him.

"Will?"

Startled, his head is ripped to her direction, arm already slipping away from his neck as she stares at him in worry. She recognized the look in his eyes all too well, and immediately she knew something was amiss.

"Will, what is it?"

《•••》

"The power went out that night, too," Mike says in realization, and Will nods.

"And then I felt it again at the field near the Nelson farm the next day."

《•••》

Will stopped suddenly when the world plunged away from underneath his feet and the dark feeling returned. All the while, Y/n's voice faded into the distance as he gripped his goosebump-covered neck, looking fearfully out onto the horizon.

"Think they'll carry me if I fake a leg injury?" She chuckles, her voice far away and fleeting from him.

Despite the steady burst of hot air carried through the breeze and the sun beating down on his skin, he felt a total absence of warmth. And like almost like a phantom limb, all he can feel is panic and something dark, and desperate... Something angry.

"Will?"

《•••》

"Then again, yesterday outside Castle Byers,"

《•••》

As Will mingled with the dirt beneath him, the storm pounding against his back soaking him to the bone, he feels it again.

The same feeling he had felt the night before Dustin's return, the day of, and now...

Well, there was no denying it. No more running. This was real, and it wasn't something so easily shaken.

A great change was upon him and his friends, a change none of them were prepared for.

Shakily, he pulls himself to his feet, not entirely sure if the voice calling his name was real.

"Will?"

With a faraway look in his eyes, Will turns to his awaiting friends as his stomach plummets beneath the earth.

《•••》

"What does it feel like?" Max asks from her spot across the coffee table.

"It's almost like..." everyone watches patiently as Will draws on a thoughtful face, for once it seems, struggling for the right words. "You know when you drop on a rollercoaster?"

Y/n, Max, and Mike all nod.

"Mm-hmm,"

"Yeah,"

"Sure,"

"No," El says, still listening intently.

"It's like... everything inside your body is just sinking all at once, but this is worse," Will says, a faraway look in his eyes that Y/n knows all too well. "Your body... it goes cold. And you can't... breath."

Will's eyes jump down his wringing hands when he feels Y/n entwining her left with his right, interlacing their fingers and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He feels his shoulders slack at her warm touch and he sends her a thankful look before continuing, feeling just a little braver.

"I've left it before," he says through a wavering voice. "whenever he was close."

《•••》

He fearfully crept towards the front door. He came to a stop when he heard the dreadful sound of wood creaking and he watched in horror as the front door slowly swung open to reveal a reddish-purple sky, and the violent winds were carrying leaves and other debris with it. Something strange was growing around the outside of the house and he felt the familiar sensation returning.

He felt his blood run cold and his skin shriveled up, goosebumps breaking out all over. His breathing picked up and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he watched frozen in terror.

《•••》

"Whenever who was close?" Mas asked, fearing the answer she already knew.

Will tried to remind himself he was in the presence of his love and his friends but fear still gripped his lungs and threatened to steal his voice. Finally, with a trembling breath, he spoke the truth none of them wanted to hear, changing the rest of their summer - and possibly the rest of their lives - forever.

"The Mind Flayer."

《•••》

"Go away!"

It got closer. It was swooping in like a vulture but Will didn't give in.

"Go away! Go away!" Tears were streaming down his face, and the monster got closer.

《•••》

Y/n's eyelids fall closed at the mention of the monster that brought so much harm and grief to her and the lives of her loved ones as the truth hits her completely. Just the sight of his convulsing body and his weeping mother that day out on the field when the Mind Flayer got him was traumatic enough. Her eyes flicker back open, back onto the equally horrified looks of her friends and her grip on her boyfriend's hand tightens.

"I closed the gate," El reasons.

"I know, but," for a moment, WI loses his voice again and he clings to Y/n's touch like a lifeline bringing him back. He fears the words he is about to speak, not only for his sake but for everyones. For Y/n's. But the fear was too great to keep quiet. If it was even a real possibility, it had to be stopped. As soon as possible. "What if he never left?"

Shakily, he looks around the room with horror hidden within his hazel irises until they land on Y/n, full of grief. His voice was soaked with apology, unable to contain his worry.

"What if we locked him out here with us?"

Y/n's head turns to meet El's eyes, the two share an equally concerned and knowing gaze from beside one another. Her stomach was twisting into knots, the horrible, sickly feeling of dread that had been building for the past two nights was finally realized.

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"This is him," I say, throwing a spare piece of paper on the D&D table before us all. The six of us all stood together, finally surrounding the D&D table for all the wrong reasons but there's no time to think about that now. I grab the charcoal in hand and began frantically scribbling an all too familiar shape in charcoal. "All of him,"

"But that day on the field," I explain. "part of him attached itself to me,"

I fight the intrusive memory trying to overwhelm me, bringing back the phantom chill that has always lingered since that day.

《•••》

He stood frozen, now trapped in the swirling fog. Several black tendrils spawned from the mass and invaded Will and he could feel the evil presence as it possessed his body and settled in his very soul.

《•••》

I yank my hand across the page, pulling up my dirtied palm to show my friends before nodding to my left.

"Y/n got him out of me,"

《•••》

"I think it's an earthquake!" Mike cries.

A light breeze picks up in the tunnel from where they're headed, carrying with it a warm toasty wave of heat that answered their question.

"No, not an earthquake!" Dustin's eyes went wide from behind his goggles as he looked to the others excitedly. "It's Y/n!"

•••

The Henderson child had managed to pull herself from unconsciousness, and she now stood across the bed. Her arms were stretched out before her and a blazing fire resided in her eyes, a grunt pulled from deep within her throat. Three bloody lines where his nails had caught her ran diagonally down her vein-covered face. Each vein protruded from her skin as blood poured from her nose and ears.

Like a broken dam, all that raw power trapped inside her burst free. Y/n was a supernova, a sight to behold as everything inside her exploded all around her.

•••

Will's mouth opens in another scream and a billowing cloud of inky black smoke escapes. It twists and unravels out from between his lips like a pitch-black tornado.

《•••》

"and El closes the gate,"

I flip the page back over and my eyes trail across my friends' faces thoughtfully, the last of the pieces falling into place as I explain.

"The part that was still in me, what if it's still in our world?"

《•••》

It grows larger and larger, circling over the boy and looms over the entire room as it had the last few days. Will's body goes limp, falling back onto the mattress as the dark mass zips across the room and through the front door breaking it open.

Nancy quickly recovers her footing and chases it out of the door to assure it's leaving for good. Sure enough, when she reaches the porch she spots the black dust circle the trees before disappearing into the sky.

《•••》

I plant my charcoal-dusted hand on the paper, leaving behind a faint trace of black.

"In Hawkins," I conclude.

"I don't understand," Max began. "The Demodogs died when El closed the gate. If the brain dies, the body dies,"

Y/n shook her head gravely from beside me, standing up a little straighter after leaning against the table.

"But the brain didn't die," she sighed heavily in realization. "Not all of it. So the part that was in control, lost. And so did the army, but, enough must have survived... And now after all this time..." She trailed off.

Mike nodded from beside me.

"Exactly," he said. "We can't take any chances. We need to assume the worst... The Mind Flayer is back."

I feel Y/n shift uncomfortably from beside me, her eyes drilling holes into the paper as she chews on her lip and I feel a tug in my chest. But the others were still looking towards me, waiting, and so was she so I continued.

"And if he is," I begin, hesitant to tear my eyes away from her. "He'll want to attach himself to someone again. A new me,"

Once again my eyes meet with all my friends as the very air around grows thicker, and Lucas finally concludes what we all fear.

"A new host,"

I nod and the room falls quiet again at the challenge laid before us.

It was difficult enough facing an enemy as powerful and ruthless as the Mind Flayer, but I think it helped our chances considerably he attached himself to me; someone who already had some insight on his territory, the Upside Down. Not only that, but I was indescribably lucky enough to have the people I have in my life who fought for me. The chief, Bob, my friends. Jonathan and my mom, and of course Y/n.

But his next victim could be anybody, and that's what makes him even more dangerous.

Finally, Y/n broke the silence - the second time she had spoke since the news had been broken. If I thought she was terrified before, I was dead wrong. I saw pure dread growing in her eyes as they trailed from El's and up to mine, widened and shining. It was with a plunging stomach I knew she had our first clue.

"Oh, no,"

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[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter One): I'll let you in if you say it's okay

Notes: So, I’m taking inspiration from more than one lifepath start for my V and overall, I’m not sure how I feel about this first chapter. I’m not as confident in it as I have been in some of my other works and it’s undergone some heavy rewrites. But I’m officially sick of looking at it, so lets go. Still getting a feel for writing the cyberpunk characters too, tbh.

Word Count:  13083

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Internal Feels and struggles, (Aidan/V is very conflicted and struggling), Morning after sex

If you haven’t yet, please read the prologue: link here

Four years, a million miles, and a new alias later, not Aidan but V is standing in a motel bathroom, fresh from the shower. There’s a bruise forming on her chin from what she can’t remember. She touches up the two shaved slits in her left eyebrow, a pointless aesthetic choice given she wears a mask, she knows. But, she likes it and that’s what matters most. She pulls her bleached blonde hair back into a little ponytail, before brushing her teeth and changing. 

She fastens her mask, a repurposed scav mask that she uses, not only to hide from her former family but to help her function in this world. No longer the green with red and pink faces the scavs use, it’s now black with white x-d out eyes and a wicked toothy grin. Vaguely cartoony and ominous, not her choice, but she’s far too nostalgic to ever change it. 

Data and logistics flash across her vision, optic tech coming to life now that the mask is on. Finally, she puts in her hearing aids,  the noise of the world coming back to her, the hum of a broken AC, the beat of a song coming from the radio, and a woman’s snoring drifting through the paper-thin walls. V pulls up her hood before she leaves the bathroom, ready to begin, her throat tight as she thinks of what the day holds. 

I saw in you what life was missing

You lit a flame that consumed my hate

I'm not one for reminiscing but

I'd trade it all for your sweet embrace

The radio plays an old song from Ava’s favorite band, V knows the heavy drone of them anywhere, though she never can quite recall their name or song titles, only reminded of the days she pretended to give a shit about them in hopes it’d earn her at least a pity kiss. Why the hell the radio still plays music that old is beyond her.  She turns her hearing aids volume down a little lower. 

Music brought down to a hum, V’s attention turns to the bed, a woman who’s name she can’t remember is tangled in the sheets. Sun streaming through the window to shine on a bare freckled shoulder, the woman is around V’s age, maybe a year or two older with a pixie cut of dyed lilac hair. She fits in well with V’s track record of bedmates; unable or unwilling to give even half of what she got, leaving the nomad to take care of herself. But, as much as she’d appreciate an orgasm from something other than her own hand, she gets what she wants from them in the end; a glorified body pillow that helps her sleep. 

“Mmm,  you up?” The woman asks, stirring from under the blankets, she pushes a hand into her hair. She blinks her eyes a few times, before taking in V’s outfit, “you’re leaving already?”

V’s mask optics quickly reads lips, giving the world subtitles, essential when she wants to forgo hearing aids. The tech is far more advanced than the human eye when it comes to lip reading. The only downside is the mask requires someone to be facing her as they speak. So, the hearing aids are still necessary unless people are kind enough to accommodate her; which they never are. 

“Gotta get back on the road,” V signs, a modulator translator in her mask speaks it in a monotone AI voice. 

“You don’t wanna get breakfast or…?” 

“No time,” V crouches down beside the bed, so she can properly meet the woman’s eyes and, “you remember what I told you, don’t you?” 

“About not telling anyone what you look like or whatever…?” 

“No whatever’s to it, if anyone comes around asking about me, you keep your mouth shut. Got it?” 

“Yeah yeah, crystal clear, asshole.” The woman groans, not liking the aggressive tone V’s picked up, but it’s a serious matter. Most people get it, everyone nowadays seems to have enemies, but apparently not everyone understands. More flies with honey as they say. 

“I’m sorry,” she signs, “it’s just important to me, life or death. I’ll order some room service for you before I go, sound good?” 

“Hmm��I like pancakes.” 

“Alright, I’ll put the order in then head out.” 

“Okay…I won’t tell anyone, about you, promise.” 

“I appreciate that,” V signs, putting in the room service order on the tablet provided. 

Thankfully, pancakes are enough to earn the woman’s silence on the matter. The less people who have a bone to pick with her, the better. Though, she still hopes The Herd can’t follow her where she’s going anyway. Dufflebag thrown over her shoulder, V leaves the motel, stepping out into the dry heat of California. Even in the early months of 2077, the desert is burning hot, though it will be freezing by nightfall. The joys of the Badlands. 

Yucca is a little nothing town south of Night City, surrounded by long agonizing stretches of desert. Not a place she’d give another thought to if not for her vehicle breaking down. The cargo in the trunk, locked up so the mechanic can’t get nosy, is meant for a client in Night City. The job came with forms and docs that’ll get her past the border. 

She rolls up the metal garage door to the shop, seeing the older man in a trucker hat and flannel working over her car. The old Thorton Galena “Rattler”, bought off a Bakker nomad, who thankfully had no idea who her birth family is. It’s put together with rust, duct tape, and luck, bought for fifty eddies because it’s a walking tetanus trap; but it’s hers.  

“Hey…drifter…” He greets her with a weary expression. 

There’s two kinds of folks in these small towns that are scattered across  the country like stars. Those who are weary of outsiders, know the dangers that lurk across the Badlands and have their guard up the moment someone they don’t know shows up. And for them, her refusal to show her face or speak with her own voice only adds to the suspicion. 

And then there’s the other ones, the ones like that lilac haired girl still curled up in dusty sheets, eating shitty motel pancakes. The ones who see her, the people like her, the nomads, the drifters who travel the country and they see someone who can bring a moment of excitement to their dull little lives. The ones bored to tears with watching tumbleweeds all day and will climb in bed with V and their own preconceived notions of who she is just to have a night of excitement. 

Each sees danger when they look at her, chaos in human form, someone who may just disrupt the status quo of their piss-pot of a town. An idea that terrifies or excites them. Then the realization hits that she’s just breezing through, a ghost without a trace. And for a moment they’ll be relieved or disappointed, then they’ll forget she was ever there. 

“You got my car fixed?” she signs before she rolls the garage door down a foot or two shy of the ground. 

“Not quite, electric coupling module is shot to shit.” 

“You said it was an easy fix.” 

“Guess I was wrong,” he turns to face her, arm crossed over his chest, “you could always find a new shop, find someone else who won’t question some scav lookin’ nomad why she’s hugging the border.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ scav, move,” she signs before shoving him away from her car engine, if he can’t get this thing up and running, she’ll do it her god damn self. She needs to get to Night City, yesterday, she’s already frustrated and him acting like he’s doing her a favor by staring at her engine for an hour isn’t helping. 

“Got any idea what you’re doing?” Condescension drips from the mechanic’s words. 

“Gonna, rig a hotwire, bypass the coupling.” She switches out some plugs, trying to find something, anything that will save her heap. 

“Compressor will run on and on, could seize up.” 

“Better than standing around scratching my head.” 

She walks around her Rattler, pulling open the driver side door and climbing in. Please, any god listening right now, don’t fuck this up for her. V presses down the ignition and tries to rev the engine; sputters but doesn’t start. 

“It’s like I was telling you,” the mechanic grumbles, so she tries again and another sputter. 

“Fuck off,” she signs, wishing the tone of the AI voice would better convey her frustration as she begs her car, her baby, to start. 

Come on baby, she thinks and her hands twitch to sign, her voice catching. Her desperation nearly making her verbal. Her rattler, her baby, her beautiful heap of rust and luck has carried her through three years in the Badlands. Just a little further, into the city, and V will find her a decent mechanic to give her vehicular child the treatment she deserves. She presses the ignition and revs the gas. 

And that engine roars to life and it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, her baby lives, she fucking lives! V can’t contain her smile, thankfully hidden behind the cover of her mask, she could scream. She’s starting the next chapter of her life with her baby by her side. 

“Not too shabby, question is how long will it last you,” the mechanic rains on her parade as he shuts the hood. 

“Better than whatever you were trying.” 

V rolls her eyes and gets her walkie talkie radio out, hooking it to a jack in her car to try to boost a signal; she needs to let her client know she’s coming into the city, so they can prepare to pick up the cargo. 

“Antennae on this heap don’t look like it packs much of a punch, doubt you’ll hear much.” 

There was a broadcasting comms tower outside of the town, she saw it as she made her way in, she’ll get in and boost her signal with it. Should be fairly easy. She just wants to make it into the city, her chance at a new life. Seventeen years with The Herd, under her father’s thumb. Three years running, never able to settle down, never knowing when her family would find her when she’d be put down. Years wasted, she’s ready to live, to really live on her own fucking terms. 

A flash of khaki fabric, visible through the opened gap in the garage door catches her eye and a chill runs down her spine. Trouble. Black cybernetic hands catch the bottom of the metal door and roll it up; an older man in a sheriff’s uniform with a cowboy hat comes strolling in. 

“Hey, Mike, didn’t know you had a customer…” He draws out, looking over V as if she was carrying the plague. 

“Just rolled in a few hours ago, I, uh, thought she would have told you.”

“Now, don’t you worry, we’re gonna hash this out,” the sheriff says, strolling over to her, he puts an arm up on her car roof, leaning against her open car door  and looming over her, “Don'tcha know you owe the sheriff a word when you pay his town a visit? To tell him what brought you here, maybe even over a cup of coffee.”

“You that hard up for dates?” She signs in return, catching a muscle twitch of annoyance, and she smirks behind her mask. Five seconds in and she’s getting under his skin. 

“Names Andrew Jones, you probably heard of me.” 

“Can’t say that I have.” 

“Served in special ops in the last war, silver shoguns, ring any bells?” 

“Can’t say that it does.” 

“Hmm,” he grumbles, “don’t like to get along, do you?” 

“Can’t say that I do.” 

He scowls at her as he shifts his weight off her door and moves to walk in front of her vehicle, looking it over. His foot raises up, dirty boot now on the grill of her car and she wishes nothing more than to just drive forward and run his dumbass over. She doesn’t have fucking time for this; her client is waiting. She doesn’t even want to be in his dumbass little town; she already fucked the only good thing here and found nothing but disappointment. 

“That a nomad vehicle? I might have figured. Scav mask, nomad car; what that make you?” 

“You got a problem?”

“I’ll tell you what my problem is, nothing boils my blood like a fuckin’ stray. Where your clan pitch camp?” 

“No camp, no clan, just little ole me, aren’t you lucky?” 

 “Don’t buy it, nomads always stick with their pack.” 

“Got no pack, they don’t suit me much.”

“Makes you an outcast among outcasts.” He sneers at her, looking down his nose at her, like he’s something special and she’s gum stuck on his shoe. 

“Let me guess, you’re the type of guy who believes every line of shit the corps feed you, that nomads are the world’s greatest evil.” 

“No, I’m a man who respects order, corps brought us that order-”

“The corps pay you and have you on a leash like a dog, you know that?” 

“And you don’t wanna see me bare my fangs.” 

“Try and I’ll put you down,” V’s fingers move before she can give another though, no interest in making peace with this asshole. 

“You threatening me, girl?” 

“No more than you are me, stay out of my way and I’ll get out of yours.” 

“Big talk coming from a misfit.”

She lets out a short laugh, the sound layered with her modulator, making it louder and doubled.  

“Look, I’m not scared of some shithole town’s sheriff who thinks a badge is a crown,” she signs, hands moving so quick and hurried that the sound of skin hitting skin rings out, “I want to leave your town, you want me gone, move your ass and I’ll make us both happy.” 

“Get going,” he moves out from in front of her car, “I got no mind to see you drifting around these parts.” 

“What part of this conversation made you think I want to?” She finishes signing before slamming her car door shut. 

“What was that drifter?” His voice fades away as she guns it out of the repair shop, rolling her eyes behind her mask. 

Though, maybe breaking into the communications tower is technically drifting, but she needs to radio her client. Sinclaire will need to know she’s coming into the city, so they can meet up, exchange eddies for cargo, and she can figure life out from there. She takes a road that goes north and cuts through the desert, her Rattler practically born for off roading as she takes the heavy bumps of the sand dunes and drives through cacti, pulling up to graffiti covered bumpers just outside the fenced in tower. 

It's an amalgamation of latticed rusted metal with satellites on top, graffiti decorating the buildings and chunks of the tower itself. It clearly hasn’t been used or maintained in years, but it should still boost her signal. V climbs out of her vehicle, trying to open the door to the fencing. It doesn’t budge at all and she pouts, then kicks it as hard as she can. Her steel toed boot works as well as a key, making it swing open. 

It’s a quick little journey, two little flights of stairs she jogs up with ease. Then it’s a ladder, the peeling yellow paint sticking to her palms. And then she’s as high as she can reach, transmitter box in view. But with the view around her, wind whipping through, she takes a moment to peel off her mask and breathe. Sun beating down and warming her face, the breeze cools her skin under it’s rays, wicking away sweat that sticks to her brow. 

A deep inhale of air before she forces herself to move again, the rusted front of the transmitter box breaks at the hinges when she opens it, she pays no mind and throws it aside then jacks in her walkie-talkie radio. V leans against the tower railing, radio in hand, but not ready to let go of the quiet. 

The smell of rust and paint surrounds her as she takes everything in. She’ll miss this, she realizes, the open road and the Badlands have always been her home. But it’s not safe, not really. The Herd has shown no signs of letting this go. For four years, she’s dodged her sister and Ava; the two tasked with being her trackers, repeated close calls over all this time. They’ve interrogated and demanded answers from the folks in these sleepy little towns she breezes through. The mask has helped, but every day the feeling of them nipping at her heels gets worse. Her stomach churns at the lengths they’ve gone to. V’s father wasted no time in turning her sister against her, turning Eira into a weapon to do his bidding, to put down the defected child who never should have made it past nine. 

He’ll kill her for not falling in that same line, for refusing to be his soldier. Forced to choose between death or conformity, practically one in the same, she tries to seek a third option.

Night City has its own rules, laws, restrictions; a city completely controlled by corps. It’s disgusting in its own right. But The Herd isn’t allowed in the city, border control of Night City has strict orders to keep all known or identifiable members of the Raffen Shiv clan out. Corps hate Nomads, as a general rule, but they really hate The Herd. A Nomad family with no respect for anyone else’s laws, a strong anti-consumerism, anti-cyberware, and anti-corp attitude; The Herd might as well send a personal fuck you to Night City.  Its not perfect, not even good,  a crime infested corp run cesspool, but it’s the safest option. More security, more boundaries, more faces so V can blend in.  Even if Eira and Ava make it into Night City, which she’s not naïve enough to believe impossible, they’ll have six million folks to work their way through. Nomads stay in pack because groups provide safety; a sea of city faces is just an extension of that. 

But that safety comes at a cost. It means no more open spaces, no more serenity, no more campfires with burnt marshmallows, or driving down dirt roads as fast as she can with her windows down, and screaming out in excitement as she takes on every bump and turn with reckless abandon. 

There’s no perfect choice, every decision carries a sacrifice, but if the cost of staying in the Badlands could mean her life, her freedom, her identity… the city is the better option… she thinks…

A pessimistic or perhaps realistic part of her can’t help but feel like he’ll get his way, her father will have her head on a pike, will slaughter his own daughter like cattle. And his power over The Herd will only grow. After all, if he’d go this far to put down his own child for an act of betrayal, how could anyone else ever think to be spared his wrath. The already loyal army of followers will be further forced into submission by fear. 

Maybe this is all a waste of time, she wonders, often does. Maybe it’s just dragging out the inevitable. Hell, a part of her wonders if she’d be better off begging for mercy, if he’d offer it just to maintain control. Would she be safer if she just gave in? Is she really the kind of person who needs to be half of a whole to function, to feel safe?

But, is it wrong to want something more? To be able to look back at her life, no matter how long or short it may be, and know she lived, that she gave it all she had. That she stayed true to herself, whoever that is. To prove that she doesn’t need them, that she isn’t a burden depending on others to carry her weight. She can make something of herself in Night City, can live on her own terms, even if only until the inevitable comes knocking at her door. It will be a bit of breathing room, a chance to just be, instead of constantly looking over her shoulder.

Family was meant to be her security, her safety, but were they ever really? V shakes her head, if she goes down every thought pattern, every reason, every doubt, every feeling; she’ll be here forever. 

She pulls her mask back down and radios her client after another moment of soaking in the breeze, it's odd they didn’t go through a fixer, but frankly she doesn’t care. A middleman who takes part of the cut isn’t ideal for her either. She’s looking for the past possible new start and the more eddies in her pocket, the better that’ll be. 

“V?” Sinclaire speaks her alias once she gets through. 

“Speaking,” she signs, as always thankful her mask spares her voice in moments like this. 

“Where the hell are you?” 

“Hit a snag, but I’m on my way into the city now.”

“That’s what I like to hear, once you’re through the border radio me and we’ll talk meet up.” 

“The docs you sent,” she signs, thinking to the falsified passport docs he had sent out her way, “they should get me through border check.” 

“Absolutely, border control barely checks ID on customs, but that little pamphlet will breeze you through.” 

“Okay, just checking.” 

“Don’t worry V, this is a piece of cake. You’re gonna love Night City, I’m telling you.” 

“Yeah? That so?” 

“Mmhmm, once we finish the trade off, I’ll show you around. There’s a place in Wellsprings with synth steak to die for, I’ll treat you.” 

“Sounds like a plan, I’m heading out now.” She agrees easily, it’ll be better to have more connections in the city, people she gets along with well enough and know the place better than her. 

“See ya soon.” 

Her client doesn’t know her exact clan, just knows she needs papers to get into the city. There’s more than one group of Raffen Shiv that aren’t allowed in city limits; hell she’s pretty sure Wraith’s aren’t.  Though, corps make special deals to let them in when they need work done. As shitty as they are, The Herd has yet to whore themselves out to that degree, one thing she can still respect about her father. She fiddles with the leather cuff bracelet around her wrist, that hides the small crown shaped brand that he placed on her skin as a child, his way of marking his blood family. She’s considered taking a knife to it, but some part of her isn’t ready to.  

V’s steps are hurried as she leaves the comms tower, heavy boots stomping over metal as she makes the quick journey back to her Rattler, the red beast of a car waiting where she left it. She climbs into the vehicle and twists the vehicle around. She follows the dirt road back out to the highway, headed out to the city. 

She races back through the little town, picking up as much speed as she can, wind whipping through the open windows. Yucca is a blink and its gone, V having cruises right through the nothing town and continuing down the highway. Empty stretches of desert decorated with cacti as she races down the expanse of roadway. 

Then the signs warn her of border crossing, nearing the city, her heart rate picking up as she grows closer to changing her life. A border checkpoint, enclosures and offices with an overpass above the divided lanes of the highway. Each lane leads to a border control officer with holograms labeling what each lane is for based on why someone is coming into the city; whether or not they have cargo to check. She slows down, so she can pull off her mask, the less suspicious she looks the better. Border guards aren’t going to stand for being questioned by The Herd, so its minimal risk. 

She switches over to the lane for customs check, pulling up to the raised blockade, beyond it another car coming through is scanned. An armed border guard not far away and she waits as the vehicle is giving the go ahead to leave; blockade coming down and guard ushering her to drive forward. V drives that little bit forward; cement yellow blockades raise before and behind her vehicle. Locking her into place makes her uncomfortable, like she can’t escape. 

“Stay in the security check area,” a guard tells her over the intercom, like she would have tried to drive through the blockade without his warning. A beat i silence, a minute or two passes as the scanners run along her car. 

“Would the owner of the vehicle please report for further questioning.”

V grabs the falsified passport, manifest marked LOA, and the bribe chip for good measure. She keeps her head down as she gets out of the vehicle, makes her body language small as she walks into the office building. Maintaining a non-threatening demeanor in order to ease any friction that may come her way. The door automatically opens, a waiting room of people and a desk behind bulletproof glass where a worker stands. A map of the New United States across one of the walls. 

“If  you’re armed, leave your weapon here.” The worker behind the desk calls out and V unholsters her revolver, allowing him to check it and put it in a drawer, “report to room two.”

She nods, feeling naked without a weapon on her hip, but she knows this is the way of things. V turns the corner, finding the door with a two marked next to it. She opens the door and a lump forms in her throat. It's a small cramped little excuse of a room, a guard already at the rinky dink desk and a chair in front of it. She takes small timid steps to the chair, discolored with either dried blood or rust, she can’t be certain. The man is dressed in a neon vest; some sort of either goggles or optic implants over his eyes that scan her over as she sits down. He wastes not a second in lighting a cigarette and her nose wrinkles as smoke billows to fill the small room. She can already feel the stench of it clinging to her clothes and wishes she could snatch it from his hand. 

“Papers?” he asks. 

She hands over the manifest, her falsified passport, and the credit chip without a word. Metallic implant augmented fingers put the cred chip aside to look over the little blue document, then he places the paper over the cred chip, hiding it from prying eyes that may peek into the office. Meanwhile, V tries to maintain her most innocent of expression, puppy dog eyes primed if any issue arrives. Small and adorable has few benefits in this world; but she plans to take advantage where she can. Being underestimated, assumed to be weak or docile, as much as it hurts does have perks. 

“What are you transporting?” 

“It’s all in there,” she signs in response, because frankly she has no idea what she’s transporting. Some corp crap. 

“Hmmm, tell me, who do you ride with?” 

“Bakkers,” she lies through her teeth, her car was bought off one, so it seems like an easy enough excuse. 

“They stop installing personal links?” He asks, puffing out a plume of smoke, his gaze on her linkless palm. 

“Religious reasons, most of the clan has them, but my mom raised us to stay ‘ganic, god given, ya know?”  She signs, a practiced excuse for when she’s asked about her lack of implants. Same as the excuse laid out in the passport. 

“Is that so…” he takes a deep drag off his cigarette and V bites her lip not to say anything she’s hit with another face full of smoke, “you know, times like this I’m so glad not to be on the other side of that table.” 

“Feelings mutual,” she signs before she can even consider stopping, aggravated by this man’s entire existence at this point. She gave him all the documents, this should be done with by now. 

“Go on now.” 

She jumps at the chance to be excused, taking in a deep fresher breath of air when she’s released from the smoke box of an interrogation room. V runs a hand through her hair as she turns the corner. There’s another armored guard standing beside the desk now, his eyes doing a lazy look down of V’s frame.

“Don’t forget to collect your personal items.” The worker behind the desk tells her and she stops there, giving him a raised eyebrow before he goes to collect her gun, “be careful with that toy and welcome to Night City.”

As much as she’d like to gripe about the toy comment; as if she’s a child, she can’t help but find herself smiling at the greeting. She’s finally here, finally getting into the city. A life on her terms; a little breathing room between her and the clan. V holsters her gun, grin playing on her lips.

“Those little shits all imagine Night City to be some sort of paradise,” the armored guard comments about her, but not to her, looking over her to the worker behind the desk.

“What are you gonna do they’re all young, naïve, which is just another word for ignorant.” The worker replies and V’s grin has died, maybe that’s the case for others, but Night City is exactly what she needs. Her situation isn’t the same. She doubts those young ignorant kids they’re talking about were running from their own death.

She shakes her head, not worth the effort it’d take to respond, V leaves the building. Her Rattler a short distance away, she’s nearly bouncing as she rushes towards it, climbing into the driver’s seat. Even the overpass above her has words welcoming her to the city, she’s sure she won’t find paradise, but there...she’ll make this life her own.

There’s barely a blip of distance between her and the border check when she sees them. Black corporate vans coming towards her, her heart jolts into her throat and sweat edges along her skin. 

“Fuck!” V curses out loud, border fucker tipped off the corp.

“Stop the vehicle! You are transporting corporate property!” A voice rings out from the vans and V takes a sharp turn off the road, her baby is meant for off roading after all. 

“I repeat, stop the vehicle!” The corporate voice yells out again. 

“Stop the vehicle,” she murmurs in a whiny voice to herself, mocking the corpo, “give us back our stuff, stop committing crimes, wah, wah, wah.” 

 She rolls her eyes, amused by her own bullshit as she punches in the keypad of her Rattler, starting up the automated turret attached to the roof. It’s not the most high tech system, but it has a lock on function and should get the job done.  The sounds of bullets pinging off metal creates a cacophony around her as she careens through an abandoned rural area, taking sharp turns to try to shake them. V takes out her hearing aids to stop her forming headache and focus on what she’s doing. The rumble of her turret shakes the car as it fires, letting her know its still working fine. Glass break out of the back of her car, a bullet piercing through, her back sprayed with the shards. She’ll be digging a bullet out of her dashboard later, she’s sure. 

A bright flash of orange, flames enveloping a van as her turret hits a gas tank the right way. One down, two to go. She keeps the pedal to the floor, speed topping out as she races away from the approaching vans. Another sharp turn and she watches as a van crashes into a wall, one last stubborn fucker. 

There’s a slight tense to the vibration of her turret overhead, bullets hitting the top of it, aiming to disarm it, as she goes through another turn. A shot bursts through her side mirror, assholes, do they have any idea how much it’s going to cost her to repair this heap. More than it’s probably worth.  

The vibration that shakes her car settles down over her head, turret no longer firing, but the van is still chasing her. It fucking jammed, her turret fucking jammed again, of course it did. V hauls off and punches the roof of her Rattler, right beneath where the turret is, used to this issue at this point. As always, the hard punch manages to spur it back on and it fires up again, blasting at the last van at full speed. 

A bullet hits the corpo van’s front tire, knocking it off path; final one down. 

“Suck my dick, Arasaka!” She screams out for no one else to hear.

She’s grinning as she finds a collection of abandoned trailers and garages, pulling into one, she’ll need to call her client, figure out a meeting place. They may want her to lay low for a bit until Arasaka calms their tits about this. But she’s in Night City, finally, what could go wrong from here. Cut out a nice living for herself, solo work or maybe something else, who knows. Get herself a place and do whatever the fuck she wants from there. She slides on her mask, puts her hearing aids back in, and rings her client. 

“Sinclaire?” 

“V, you make it over the border yet?” 

“Yep, out just south of Pacifica according to the GPS, little run in with the corps but I shook them. When and where you wanna meet?” 

“Little China, you know where the old Club Atlantis is?” 

“Not remotely, but ping me the coordinates and I’ll find it.” 

“Sending it to you now, think you can get there by three am?” 

“Yeah, no problem, prefer to do this under cover of darkness?” 

“Much prefer, see you soon, V.” 

V hangs up the call and punches in the coordinates he sent, GPS map firing up to tell her where to go. She pulls out of the abandoned garage and gets herself back out on the road, driving further into the city. 

She doesn’t like driving in the city. V determines about a minute into being into the actual bulk of the city. There’s neon signs and adverts everywhere she looks; most displaying someones ass or tits.  She wouldn’t consider herself a prude, far from it given just how many people she’s spread her own legs for, but she does appreciate some decorum… These are sleazy, dirty… 

And there’s traffic. Even at the late hour, people are on the roads, and they’re slow. So, fucking slow. Move, your asses. A motorcycle might be a good investment, she’d be able to just ride between traffic or weave through the other cars.

She manages to reach the spot before three am, though she wants to scream by the time she arrives. The building blends in easily, just another large shuttered up structure with graffiti covering its outside; symbols for the Tyger Claws, because correct spelling is a bad look for a gang, apparently. 

V lets out a huff of air as she gets out of her car to wait;  examining the little bloody scratches on her shoulders and arms where the glass hit her. Nothing serious, a splash of rubbing alcohol to disinfect and she’ll be fine. But there is a slight sting to the injuries that make moving her arms and shoulders uncomfortable. Corpo fucks. V leans against her car, taking in her new city. 

And she shouldn’t be amazed, she knows that. The traffic drove her nuts and she’s been in landfills that smelled nicer. But despite it all, she finds herself impressed at the buildings that stretch on into the heavens. The bright lights and neon against a dark sky is gorgeous; a high vantage point and she’s sure it’d look like something out of a movie. She finds herself in awe as hope nestles its way into her chest. 

Not perfect, nothing ever is, but she can work with it. She can build something here. 

A sharp honk gets her attention, disrupting her moment of reverie. The street and road have been abandoned mostly; only her and the limousine coming to a stop next to her. She gives a slight wave to the driver, then forms a V with her fingers, as if they needed any more indication of who she is. 

The driver is not her client, instead a big bulk of a man with gorilla arms implants, black metal for fingers, he gets out of the driver’s seat and a similarly sized man steps out of the back seat. Her client’s got muscle around him it seems, maybe he just wants to make sure she doesn’t get squirrely and try to pull something. 

Both guards out, they open the backseat door close to the street and her client finally emerges. He’s not a particularly tall man, though as with most adults, he is taller than her. Sandy slicked back hair and unnaturally bright green eyes; likely optics. 

“V, darling, nice to see you in the flesh, you got the goods?” 

“Right here,” she signs before moving behind her car, opening the trunk so he can see the Arasaka cargo crate.

“Fantastic, load it up, boys.” 

“Woah, woah,” V signs and sits on the crate before the two bodyguards can grab it, “eddies first, then you take the cargo.” 

“Oh, V, honey…” His voice drips with condescension and a chill reverberates down her spine, “you did good work, only a shame you’re so naive.” 

“The fuck do-” 

Pain cracks through her skull, knocking V off the cargo crate and onto the ground. Another sharp thwack of pain across her head and back; something blunt striking her before she can get up. She groans out as she rolls over onto her back, looking up at the bodyguard who’s holding a baseball bat, what looks like blood staining it. Her head and back hurt; her head spinning and she’s unable to get her bearings.

“Load the cargo into the car.” 

“What do you want us to do with her?” One of the guards asks Sinclaire and he looks down at her, like a cockroach. 

“Eh, no one will come looking for her. Might as well throw her away with the trash,” he kicks her side, sneering when she grunts in pain, “give her another hit for good measure.” 

“Got it,” the guard nods and starts to raise the baseball again, high above his head for a hard swing and she instinctively twists to give him the back of her head again. 

“We’ll scrap the car, ge-” 

And then the bat comes down on her, a rush of pain before consciousness slips from her grasp. 

Time loses all meaning when the world is blacked out, but eventually the light filters back in and her senses return. She can feel her hearing aids still in and its reaffirmed by the sounds she hears, the faint murmur of people. The smell around her is awful, disgusting, and she can feel stuff around her. Plastic bags scratching at her skin, something wet touching her arm. Her mask shifted and she forces herself to move, she pulls it back in place, blinking. 

Garbage bags, some intact and others shredded. He actually had her thrown into the trash, that son of a bitch. V pushes the trash bags off of her, city lights starting to glimmer through, neon against a black sky. She finds a metal edge of the dumpster and pulls herself up, body still aching in protest as she emerges from her would be grave. Cold air hits her bare arms, the city far colder in the early months than the Badlands. She’s in an alleyway dumpster and she hears gasps of shocks, turning to see civilians shocked to see someone climbing out of the trash. She’s be ashamed if she weren’t so furious.

V punches the side of the dumper, feeling it reverberate with the force, this was supposed to be her shot at a new life and now she’s in a god damn dumpster. 

She’s going to kill Sinclaire, she’s going to fucking kill him, son of a bitchfucked her over and he’s going to pay with blood. But how the hell does she even reach him? He never gave her details of where he spends his time or let alone where he lives. Hell, she doesn’t even know where she is. She needs her car back and her luggage from it, she doesn’t even have a change of fucking clothes as it stands right now. 

“What time is it? Where am I?” she signs at the civilians, still straddling the edge of the dumpster, maybe they can be some help. 

“Uhhh, like 10pm? And Heywood…?”

So, he dragged her away quite a bit, so...maybe he frequents the area. Still doesn’t tell her much, she needs to find him. And she needs to find her car, but how the fuck does she accomplish that?

“Don’t suppose you have any idea where I could find Luke Sinclaire, do you?” 

“Uh, no,” the stranger kind of raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the whole situation, “but uh, you could always talk to Padre. He’s the local fixer.” 

Of course, she’d have to get a fixer involved, not using one is probably what got her in this mess in the first place. Sinclaire knew she had no ties to her Nomad family, new to the city, and no fixer involved. He basically had license to do whatever he wanted without fearing someone would come for him or come looking for her. V touches the back of her head, fingers coming back red, dried blood matting her hair. He meant for her to die, she’s sure, but the blunt trauma wasn’t enough to do her in. 

“Where’s Padre?” she signs, she doesn’t have money to pay a fixer but maybe they can work something out. She doesn’t want to lone wolf it and end up in a dumpster again. 

“He has his own parish, but he’s usually at the El Coyote Cojo right about now, might be able to catch him if you hurry.” 

“El Coyote Cojo, which would be…where?” 

“Bar a little north of here, you really aren’t from around here, are you?” 

“Thanks for your help and stunning observational skills; I’m off.” 

She pulls her hood back up over her head, hiding her bloody matted hair as she leaves the alley way and goes vaguely north. New chapter of her life, she’s injured, alone, broke, and smells like garbage. 

Honestly, sounds about right for her luck. But, she’s far from given up. She navigates the Night City streets, stopping to ask a stranger where the bar is again before she finally finds it. She keeps expecting to get weird looks, like the ones that were usually sent her way in the small towns she’d visit on the road. But even with her mask, no one pays her much mind. And why would they?

V passes at least four more outrageous looking strangers along her way to the bar. People’s who’s entire body is made of gold cyberware, a woman with skin that looks like plastic, a cowboy with cybernetic arms and legs, and a girl with what looks like cat ear implants on top of her head. Things that make her stop and give a second glance, but no one here even minds. Night City has its own weirdness limit and her mask doesn’t even come close to hitting it. There's an anonymity she’s never known before and its kind of nice. Even bloody, mask on, trash covered; she’s just one face in a sea of millions. 

El Coyote Cujo is a lowlit bar with traditional Mexican decorations across it and as expected in the evening, it has a fair number of patrons bustling around. People shooting pool, downing tequila, and chatting amongst themselves. And for the first time, she finds eyes landing on her. Not necessarily weirded out by her masked appearance, but more so wary of a stranger. She pays them no mind, employees here should know where Padre frequents or if he’s still here. There’s two she’s able to find right away; the bartender and a busboy. She starts with the bartender, walking herself over to a stool, he’s an older man with dark hair and a golden arm. He walks over to her once she’s sat, a smile bringing out the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. 

“A new face, what can I get for you?” 

“I’m actually trying to find someone,” she signs, “someone told me the local fixer, Padre, is a regular here.”

“Ah, he’s probably at his usual table upstairs, not sure he’s interested in taking on any new clients though.” 

“I’ll see if we can figure something out.” She steps away from the bar and heads upstairs, its mostly vacant, making her task just a little bit easier. 

Her gaze is drawn to an older man with sparsely any hair and age spots along his skin, a gold cross around his neck. A few men in tacky gold jewelry around him.

“Padre?” The AI modulator voice calls out and she sees the older man’s eyes land on her. His guards around him seem to tense, prepared for if she sends up being a threat. 

“I’m not sure, I know you,” Padre comments, looking over her disheveled appearance. Being beaten and thrown in a dumpster doesn’t do much for your looks. 

“You don’t, but I’m looking for a fixer, need help if you’re interested in hearing me out.”

“Come, sit.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she signs before sliding into the booth seat across the table from him. 

“How can I assist you, child?” 

“So, a guy named Luke Sinclaire contracted me to smuggle corp cargo into the city, I go to meet up with him and he tricks me. Stole the cargo, sent my car to be scrapped, and had his gangoons drop me.  I need help finding him so I can get the cargo, my car, and my dignity back. Maybe kill him too, depending on how I feel, but we’ll see.” 

“You didn’t use a fixer, I take it?” He raises an eyebrow with the energy of a dad chiding a child for making a stupid mistake. 

“No, I was desperate and it bit me in the ass, so I’m doing what I should have done in the first place.” 

“And I’m to assume, you have no money with which to do this either?” He says, having read her like a book. 

“I’m sorry to be asking favors the first time we meet and I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, of course, but I was wondering if we could work out an arrangement instead.”

“And what sort of arrangement would that be?” 

“I’ll do a merc job for you, your choosing, I’ll take no cut of the profit; a completely free job in exchange for you helping me with this.”

“And how can I trust you to do this job well, I do not know you or your work.” 

“Well, I’d do the job for you first, so if its crap you could not help me. I fully expect to get back what I put in, if I do quality work, you do it in return, I’m desperate here.”

“Come with me, Marcus, get the car,” he tells one of the bulky men who walks off. 

Padre stands and follows behind Marcus, V follows suit as they leave down the stairs and out of the bar towards a dark little alleyway. Marcus pulls up a car and parks it for them. Once parked Marcus gets out and comes back to one of the backseat doors, Padre gets into the back on his own, Marcus opens the door for her. He silently beckons her in and she does what she’s asked, sliding onto the leather seat. Marcus shuts her door before going back around to the driver’s seat, 

“Embers, pull up to the back where the ramp is,” Padre instructs Marcus of where to go. 

And then the car pulls out onto the road. V fiddles with a curl of hair, fidgety and unsure of what to do, why they’re driving out away from the bar. Padre has a far away look in his eye. 

“You’re new to Night City, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah…” 

“And what is your name, I’m afraid I didn’t catch it earlier.” 

“V.” 

“V, I’ve lived in Heywood all my life, it’s roots are strong and watered by blood. Family is what pulls us through, no one is purely independent. The city is ecosystem, each individual playing a vital role that impacts those around them. The relationship between fixers and our mercenaries is an important one, not only is it mutual beneficial, but we keep each other safe. A lesson you’ve had to learn the hard way.” 

“Can’t really argue with that…” 

“People who-“ 

Padre pauses in his words looking out of the window and through it, V can see a car coming up alongside them. The car begins honking furiously at them. Nerves alight and chills slinking up her spine; she has a bad feeling about this. It has to be someone with a bone to pick with Padre. 

“Shit!” Marcus curses, the first word she’s heard him say. 

“Stop the car,” Padre says, with a calming hand on Marcus’s shoulder. 

“What’s this?” V signs, worrying speeding up her hands. 

“Business, you carrying?” 

“Yeah….” V checks her waistband and her revolver is gone because why did she think Sinclaire wouldn’t take her gun, “No.” 

Padre blinks, surprised she’s sure, because who the fuck would be unarmed in Night City. Marcus pulls to a stop, the car once beside them pulls around to park in front of them and a man comes out. He’s dressed in what appear to be green fatigues with a bullet proof vest. As he comes close to V’s window, she sees his gold implants catching the neon lights. 

“Sebastian Ibarra,” the man says in a low voice, as V’s window is rolled down by Marcus, “looks like it’s my lucky day.”

The stranger leans into the window, his left hand is carrying a gun and he casually puts it into the window. Both arms are metal in nature, but they look far from top shelf, at least from her glance. 

“What do you want?” Padre asks him. 

“To settle our biz, once and for all. Got an offer for you, Paddy, so listen up. Get the fuck out of Vista, pull your boys off the street! I’ll give you the Glenn, done deal. No more restless nights, see how generous I can be?” 

A beat of silence and V gives a glance at Padre, he seems far from amused with the man’s bullshit. 

“Well, Paddy?!” 

V lurches at his impatient yell, she doesn’t need this wannabe soldier turned gangbanger fucking up her deal. Her right hand grabs the back of his neck, below the base of his skull and her left grabs the gun. She slams his head against the car roof, his forehead gushing blood at the impact, the shock and pain makes his grip loosen and allows her to steal his pistol before letting him go. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses as he stumbles back, seeing stars and touching at his forehead. She aimed for the soft flesh just before his golden mohawked implant began, blood now steadily streaming from the wound, “you’ll fucking pay for that.” 

She points his own pistol at him, cocking the gun, asking the silent question of if he intends to be shot today. 

“It seems our conversation has come to a close,” Padre speaks calmly, but when she turns she can see the hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Careful Padre, never know who’s got a barrel at your six,” he threatens with blood coating his face like paint, “you neither shitbucket!” 

“Now, I’m armed,” V signs to Padre, as she watches the man climb back into his car, defeated for the moemnt. 

“Marcus, please.” 

The driver pulls out and away, getting them back on the road, as if the exchange had never happened. There’s a moment or two of silence, as V tucks her new gun into her waistband. If Padre takes her up on her offer, she may need it, plus you can generally never have enough firepower. 

“Many people come through the city,” Padre speaks after a beat of silence, “little shits who’s spines go soft the moment they’re looking down the barrel of a gun. And sometimes you get the odd soul, one who can truly hold their own.” 

“Who was that?” She asks, unable to help but smirk behind her mask at the compliment. That she’s one of the odd souls, different from those little shits, that she can hold her own.  V is far from incompetent, even if some shitbird got the jump on her. 

“No one important, he’ll be gone in a week’s time. Another will take his place.”

“The ecosystem will take him out?” 

“People who don’t know their place, soon find themselves without one. He’ll pay for what he’s done. You… paid for your misdeeds, for your misstep, but you’re finding your place now and within it you may thrive.” 

“You got my place in the ecosystem all figured out?” 

“Here,” he hands her a screamsheet, a magazine with an animated ad for a car, high-end The Legend of Aerondight, “only four in Night City.” 

“That so?” It looks slick, she guesses, though certainly not her aesthetic. Its that weird rich person sort of design where it’s oddly shaped and proportioned, perhaps to be aerodynamic. All sleek silver and black, no character to it. She’d take her Rattler over it any day. 

“First belongs to the Rayfield regional direction, second belongs to mayor Rhyne, third to a rental service. And my client aims to be the fourth.” 

“Klep the car and you’ll help me?” 

“Yes, I have a contact who works inside the parking structure near Embers, a club the current owner likes to frequent. He’s there tonight as well. My contact will cut the security camera feed and open the security gate for you.” 

“Current owner, anyone I need to worry about?” 

“An Arasaka corpo,” Padre informs her, because apparently, she hasn’t fucked with Arasaka enough in the past day or so. 

“So, just hotwire it or?” It wouldn’t be the first time she’s hotwired a car, but fancy ones like this usually have a more complicated security system. Usually takes more than a knife and luck, which is her usual method. 

“Not quite,” Padre pulls a little gadget, a silver and black device that he hands to her, “this should work like a key for the car, matches the ones used by Rayfield tech. Should open the lock and bypass identity authorization.” 

“That sounds convenient…”  Too fucking convenient, she resists adding. 

“Kabuki has some excellent tech workers, but I won’t lie, it is a risk. I assume one you’re willing to take?” 

“Got it, I’ll get the car.” 

“Marcus, pull up here,” Padre tells the driver and they come to a stop, “you can jump down below, and before you go, take this V.” 

He hands her a card, marked with his name and phone number, golden in color with a sword surrounded by roses.  She rubs her thumb over the embossment, glad for her first contact within the city. Connections help. 

“Your number?” She points out the obvious, not sure what else to say. 

“Bring the car back to El Coyote Cujo and call me when you arrive, if all goes well, I’ll have your intel by then. And, I may just call on you for work down the line.” 

“Understood, I’m off then.” 

“Go with God, V.”  

The guardrail drags along the side of the highway but there’s a breakage where it allows her enough space to easily jump over. Peering over it leads to an alley way, a closed dumpster just below. She hops over, dropping down onto the dumpster, she intends on last night being her last trash nap, so she’s more than a little thankful for it being closed. She hears a civilian let out a little exclamation but pays no mind as she jumps down onto the pavement. A quick walk down a graffitied alleway leads her to yellow road signs cutting across an open structure. Glowing vending machines beckon her to spend ennies she doesn’t have on energy drinks and burritos, a turn past them brings her to an elevator. 

Slick glinting silver encompasses her as she steps into the alleyway; impressively clean compared to the absolute grime of the city.  Likely to impress any corpos who come this way to get their cars. A quick tap of a button and the doors shut, elevator rattling as it descends down to the garage. 

A beat of silence and the elevator opens up to a hallway; black, gunmetal gray, and teal accents. The wall declares which sector she’s in and an arrow on the far wall tells her where to turn, as if there were anywhere else to go. The turn around the corner puts her directly in front of two large black double doors; PARKING over them in clear bold lettering. 

They slide open when she gets close and open up to the large parking garage, lights coming on as she sees all the slick fancy corpo cars. Sleek blacks and eye popping reds, none with any taste for design if you ask her. But nomads and corpos have...different aesthetics. 

“Eh, something I can help you with?” A male voice rings out, bringing her attention to the little station next to the blocked off exit for cars. The contact, she presumes. She comes over to his open window, the man dressed in uniform. 

“Padre sent me…” she signs, keeping things vague just in case this person has no idea why she’s here. 

“Gotcha,” he hits a button, “cameras are blind, you got twenty minutes.” 

She nods and goes looking through the cars, it’s the glow of neon that brings her to it. A parking spot marked off in the vivid blue glowing lights, they frame the Rayfield, and spell VIP on the wall behind it. 

Time to test the tech, she holds the device next to the door and presses its button, a blue light flashing. And then the Rayfield’s door opens, sliding back and up in one fluid motion, exposing the deep burgundy leather seats. Shit may actually be going right for once. 

She climbs into the driver’s seat, feeling wholly out of place in the plush designed car. The seat automatically adjusts to accommodate her, no doubt shorter than the owner, and the blacked-out windshield and window turn to crystalline clear glass. All that’s left is bringing the baby back to the bar and then she can get her intel on Sinclaire. 

A red caution symbol flashes in the windshield and her body tenses; a bad feeling creeping in. No, her luck can’t be running out already. 

Then the door opens and there’s a gun in her face. 

“Get the fuck out!” A Mexican accented voice yells out. 

If there is a god, he personally hates her, there is no other explanation, and she will fist fight him for his shenanigans. She looks up at the man standing before her, barrel at her forehead. He’s leaning down against the car, not unlike how the sheriff did to intimidate her back in Yucca. However, unlike the sheriff, this guy has the build to pull it off. He’s easily over a foot taller than her and wider than most doorway, all pure muscle with dark hair in a top knot, gold cybernetics adoring his face. She puts her hands up in mock surrender for a moment. 

“Nothing personal, jaina, just biz.” 

V goes to gun it, to stomp her foot down on the gas, but before she can the man has the back of her hoodie and is unceremoniously ripping her out of the vehicle. 

“You fuckin’ deaf, chica, fuck out of the car, now!” He’s able to manhandle and pack her around like it’s nothing, like carrying a housecat. 

She grabs the hand on her hood and digs her fingernails in, swinging her foot out to kick him while her other hand goes for her gun. 

Then there’s a steady rev of engines, tires squealing and growing ever closer. Confusion coloring her assailant’s face and he drops her, looking around. 

“The fuck…” 

He starts to say and then there’s two police cars rushing into the parking lot, skidding to stops in front of them. And its fucking overkill, if she rang 911 because she was shot, they’d maybe send an officer out in three weeks. One fucking corpo has someone break into his car and it’s the end of the universe, need a full brigade. 

The headlights of the cruises are blindingly bright and she struggles to adjust; putting her hands up as police officers come out with guns at the ready. It’s a car for fucks sake. 

“Don’t move!” 

Her attacker carefully slides his gun across the cement, to show he’s not a threat and maybe she’d consider doing the same if she cared; but she doesn’t. 

“You’re under arrest!” 

“Stay where you are!” 

The police continue barking orders, as if the two hadn’t piece together what was happening or what was being asked of them. They’re not stupid. 

“Hands where I can see them, nice and slow!” 

He can already see them, why must they go through the rigamarole. She doesn’t have time for this shit. 

“On the ground motherfuckers, right now!” 

V is able to watch for a second, as a female cop cuffs and pushes the big guy onto the ground. Then in the next second she’s down there too, but they don’t cuff her like they do him. The officer only holds her hands down to the pavement, maybe they think because she’s smaller they don’t need the cuffs, at least not yet. 

“Jackie Welles, my old pal from the hood,” a voice rings out, “See you haven’t grown an ounce wiser.” 

“Hey,” big guy, apparently Jackie, responds and she shifts her head against the pavement to see him being held down in addition to the cuffs, “argh, Detective Stints, been a while, huh?”

“Inspector Stints,” the man responds now stepping out where he can be seen in front of the bright lights, he picks up the gun Jackie put down. 

“Same shit,” Jackie says with a laugh. 

“But you, you’re new,” Stints comments as he walks over and crouches down in front of her, looking over her face.

He waits, anticipating her to say something, but she talks with her hands and they’re currently pinned behind her back. And sure she possesses the technical ability to speak, her vocal chords do function. But she doesn’t, unless she’s alone or highly emotional. She used to talk to her mom, sister, and Ava…but those days are gone. 

“Spit it out? Cat got your tongue?” Stints taunts and she still remains silent. 

“Think her voicebox might be broken, Stints,” Jackie comments, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Pfft, probably just another piece of Heywood trash, another termite who’ll live and die here. Just like you Welles.” 

“Fuck off, just tell us what you got planned,” Jackie grumbles. 

“Gonna be booked, gonna do a stint, heh, get it?” He says with a grin. 

“C’mon Stints, cut us a break, huh? You lock us up, we’ll just jerk off till trial and then what?”

She has no intention on jerking off anywhere, but alright.

 “Worst case,” Jackie continues, “we get a few months, standing room only nowadays. In el bote. Hell, we’ll probably be out early.” 

“These the thieves? Ordinary street trash,” a heavily accented voice comments, a Japanese man in a shimmery golden colored vest comes walking over. 

“Shit, he’s here,” Inspector Stints groans before standing, “got them in custody Mr. Fujioka. We’ll be taking them, now.” 

“It’s a waste of effort, I have no time to testify or play at an investigation.” 

“Suggesting we let ‘em go, sir?” 

“I’m suggesting you throw them in the sea; cuffed, legs broken, so this trash doesn’t float.” 

And with that the man starts to walk away, making his way back to the club, she’s sure, continuing his night of debauchery as if he hadn’t ordered the murder of two strangers just because he could, because he didn’t have time for a trial. And god, she knows she probably has no room to judge anyone else’s morals, but just fuck corpos. 

“You heard him,” the inspector says, because corpo cash pays his salary, she’s sure. 

“Fuuuuck….” Jackie curses as they start to drag him up on his feet by the cuffed hands and she her own arms are wrenched back and cuffed. 

V gets her feet back under her, moving with the pull as they manhandle her off the ground, she kicks back at the officer behind her. Her foot connects with their calf, causing them grunt out in pain as they’re knocked off balance loosing their grip on her wrists. She jumps as high as she can and brings her cuffed hands under her feet to her front. 

Jackie follows suit, kicking the officer off of him, but with his size it knocks them flat on their ass. He shoulder checks another pig as V makes a dive for the Rayfield, it’s door still open amongst this chaos. She lands herself in the drivers seat and hits the ignition. 

“Stop resisting!” Officers yell, fingers on the trigger, and no, that’s not happening. 

“Wait up, chica!” Jackie yells out and she hits the button to open the passenger side door; he’s an asshole, but she’s not leaving him to be thrown in the fucking ocean. 

He throws himself down in the passenger side and she guns it, doors shutting on each side as she takes the turn out the parking exit. She watches from the corner of her eye as Jackie, who’s barely able to fit in the bougie car, brings his cuffed hands down as low as he can. He grunts and curses, not quite as flexible as she is. With effort and twisting, he’s able to get the chain of the cuffs under his foot and then he stomps down while yanking his hands up. The little chain doesn’t stand a chance, breaking into pieces and pinging about the interior as it does so. 

“Much better,” Jackie comments, looking at his wrists which now just have the manacles of the cuffs. 

She rolls her eyes, bringing her attention back on the road and she expects to see sirens chasing after them, but it never happens. Are the cops not chasing them? They should be chasing them? Is she not getting in her second high speed chase since coming here?

“Honestly,” Jackie starts to talk again, he talks a lot, “I was just gonna let Stints free us, but I like the way you think, this way we get the Rayfield too.” 

“What?” She takes a hand off the wheel to sign. 

“Oh shit, you’re actually….my bad…” He awkwardly apologizes for asking if she was deaf earlier because, yes, yes she is. 

“What do you mean, free us?” 

“Stints is a softie as far as pigs go, got Heywood in his blood, would never throw us in the fuckin’ ocean cause some corpo said. And, you can slow down, he won’t chase us, chica.”

“Oh…okay,” she signs, pulling up to a curb, something else to take care of. 

“We stopping here?” 

“You are,” she signs before pulling her gun out and pointing it at him, signing with her other hand, “get out of the car.” 

“Really, chica?” He rolls his eyes, like he didn’t pull this shit on her five minutes ago. 

“Wouldn’t have let you in if I knew Stints was a softie, I got a job to finish, get out.” 

“A fixer line this up for you?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Padre?” 

“Yeah…are you gonna get out of the car or…?” 

“Listen, I was gonna klep the car and then find a fixer to sell it for me, but if you already got Padre involved, we’ll go halfsies.” 

“You pointed a gun at me!” 

“You’re pointing a gun at me, right now!” 

“You did it first!” 

And he laughs and she does too, because they sound like children bickering over who pushed who on the playground. Its dumb and ridiculous and why does she like him? His smile is warm and kind, something about him, welcoming. She drops the gun, tucking it back in her waistband. She press her hand under her mask, trying to suppress her giggles. The tension that’s been clinging to her has snapped. Her body feels lighter, like she can breathe a bit better. She closes the passenger side door, he may be chill, or she’s just easily charmed. But, she’s still going to fuck with him, just a little. 

“Okay, fine, we’ll go halfsies.” 

“See, now you’re making sense,” he grins as they pull out back onto the road, “Jackie Welles.”  

“V…it’s…nice to meet you? I think?” 

“Heh, not from around here, right?” 

“Nah, but, from the sounds of it you’re a local.” 

“Heywood in my veins, chica,  where we meeting Padre?” 

“El Coyote Cujo.” 

“Of course.” 

“You  know the place?” 

“I’ve heard of it,” he says, grinning wide, a joke she’s clearly not in on, “Ah, I got a good feeling about this.” 

“About what?” 

“Us, you and me got chemistry.” 

“Do we now?” 

“Oh, don’t give me that, you feel it too, heard that laugh.” 

“Sure, whatever you say,” she teases as she pulls into the El Coyote Cujo parking lot, pulling the slick corpo car into a spot, “got a phone on you?” 

“You don’t?” 

“I literally have lost everything I own,  alright? Call Padre and put it on speaker.” 

“Fine, fine,” Jackie gets out his phone and calls Padre, phone in one hand and the other stretched across the back of the seats. 

“Jackie? To what do I owe the pleasure.” 

“Here with your newest find, V, we got the Rayfield.” 

“You helped her out?” 

“Well…” 

“He pointed a gun at me and nearly had me thrown in the ocean.” 

“Seems like I have a car and a story waiting on me, I’ll be there shortly.” 

A pain aches in V’s head, migraine spreading across her temple as Jackie hangs up. She rolls the car window down, allowing the chill of the winter night seep in, hoping the fresh air will ease her pain.  V wants a shower, there’s still blood in her hair and she’s sure she still smells like trash. Though, no one’s been cruel enough to point it out. But, she has no idea where she could grab a shower. Why the fuck does her head hurt so much? The pain a steady throb across her entire head. She pinches the bridge of her nose, it didn’t even ache this much when she first came too in the dumpster. 

“You alright V?” 

“Head hurts,” she signs, before turning off her hearing aids, hoping that shutting out the city sounds will help. 

“When’s the last time you ate, chica?” Jackie says, making sure to stay in her eye line as he leans over the middle console, though his biceps nearly touch her even when he isn’t.  Her mask reading his lips to give him subtitles. . 

When was the last time she ate? She didn’t eat all day because she was in a dumpster passed out. The day before was the smuggle run and she didn’t eat before she left Yucca.

“Two days ago.” 

“Fuckin’ for real, no wonder your head’s wonky, once we finish the deal we’ll get some grub.” 

“What made you think that was why?” 

“Ah, my mama gets those migraines when she stops eating from stress, Vik and me keep telling her to take care of herself, but she’s too busy taking care of everyone else.” 

“You and your mom close?” V can’t help but ask, thinking about her own mother for a moment. 

“Oh yeah, family’s important, gotta have people you can turn to out here.” 

“Yeah…” 

“What-”

Headlights shine in through the back glass of the Rayfield, bring their attention to Padre pulling into the parking lot.  His arrival ending whatever question Jackie was about to ask, which may be for the best. She’s not ready to answer questions about family. Not when her head is throbbing, she’s filthy, and her stomach is empty. Padre’s driver comes to a stop and they see Padre gets out of the back. V turns her hearing aids back on, knowing it will make the conversation flow easier as her and Jackie get out of the Rayfield. Her arms collecting goosebumps from the air. 

“Jackie, it’s nice to see you again, how have you been?” He greets Jackie warmly

“Ehhh, can’t complain, same old same old, making new friends,” he says with a grin, nodding his head towards V.

“Never can have too many of those. It’s always nice to chat once business is done.” 

One of Padre’s bodyguards has already climbed into the driver’s seat of the Rayfield. Enging revving up and then fading off into the night as he leaves. Officially finishing up their business. 

“Uh,” Jackie raises an eyebrow, “you getting senile on me, Padre, this is usually the part where eddies change hands.” 

V’s smirking and trying not to laugh behind her mask. Padre gives a look at V’s direction and she looks down at the ground, pursing her lips so she doesn’t laugh. 

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what you mean.” 

“Ah,” Jackie nods, like he gets it, “no worries, V agreed to go halfsie with me on the Rayfield gig.” 

“Halfsies?” Padre raises an eyebrow, smiling at V, he seems to find her joke at least a little funny. V can’t help the giggle that spills out.

“Am I missing the joke here?” 

“Well, I’m afraid, this was an unpaid job for V here.” 

“What?” Jackie shoots her a sharp look, disbelief coloring his expression. 

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” she taunts. 

“Fuck you!” 

She bursts out laughing, holding her stomach as she cackles behind her mask, the sound echoing strangely through it. But, she can’t stop. 

“You stole a million eddie car for free!? The fuck is wrong with you!?” 

“No, no,” she furiously signs, “I needed info.” 

“Speaking of which, I have your intel here,” Padre says, handing her a shard.

“Give me a moment, my lungs hurt.” 

“I’m glad you're entertained, that info better make you a billionaire.” 

“Nah, personal shit,” she collects herself, “thanks, Padre, it means a lot.” 

“You’re a good kid, make him pay, V.”

“Oh, I will,” V confirms, slotting the shard into a little opening on her mask, info displaying across it. 

The name of a chopshop that rumors say had a nomad vehicle come in, her Rattler no doubt. Sinclaire’s address and regular hang outs, exactly what she needs. Hopefully, he hasn’t had time to sell the cargo yet. If so, she’ll axe him and klep all his shit. 

“What happened?” Jackie asks. 

“Well,” she signs, before taking the shard out, “Sinclaire contracted me to transport some cargo, no fixer, so he fucked me over the second he got a chance. Bashed me over the head, threw me in a dumpster, scrapped all my shit, and took off with the cargo.” 

“So, that’s what that smell is?” 

“I will throw you,” she threatens, but she’s rolling her eyes and smiling. 

“I’d love to see you try, chica.” 

“The chop shop won’t be open until morning and it’s late. It’s up to you, but I’d recommend resting for the night.” 

“Yeah…” She signs, but she can’t help the slight pout. She has no money, no clothes, no food, no shelter. She’ll be sleeping on a bench or something tonight, not much rest. 

“You did good work V,” Padre pats her shoulder as he leaves,” I’m sure I’ll have more jobs for you in the future, paying ones, of course.” 

“Thanks again, Padre.”  

She rubs a hand down her face, migraine still thumping around in her head. Between not eating and having her hearing aids in all day, her head feels on the verge of exploding. 

“So, what’s the plan, jaina?” 

“My plan, why do you wanna know my plan?” 

“Because, you and I both know you’re up shit creek without a paddle here, V. No home, no family, no one to turn to. Night City ain’t a place that will let you get by on your own. Need people you can turn to, if you wanna survive.” 

“And what, you wanna be my friend?” She raises an eyebrow, taken aback by just how kind and friendly he’s really been. 

“Told you already, we got chemistry,” he grins again and it makes her smile, “be a crying shame to waste it.” 

“Okay, friend, what do we do now?” 

“You like chili?

“As a concept, sure.”  

“Settled then, get you a hot meal, change of clothes, a shower ‘cause you fuckin’ need it, and crash with me tonight.”

“And tomorrow?” 

“And tomorrow, we teach that pendejo a lesson, sound good?”  

“Sounds good to me.”

They’re all grins and smiles as they leave the parking lot, knocking shoulders together as they go, walking side by side down the neon lit streets. And she can feel it returning, that little buzz of hope she had in her chest when she first came here, the one she thought was beaten out of her by Sinclaire’s goons, it’s back and brighter than ever. Though not half as bright as Jackie’s smile as they turn a corner towards his mother’s house. 

[merry-andrews]

Hello!!🥰💗 mind kicked into action and I wrote a smoll addition for you :3 hope you like it!

Thanks to this greet-and-meet event the Vought had, he could slip in the building with no problem at all.

Sunglasses on, that obnoxious hawaiian shirt with green and blue patterns with no leather coat today, he wanted to blend it but that's what he told Hughie and the real reason was it was just too hot in here to wear anything.

One of hands stuffed in his jeans' pocket, he drinks from a large mug as he assesses his surrounding. The Cunt's fancy penthouse is right on top floor and the elevator is for staffs only.

Frenchie's voice is loud and clear on the comm, guiding him to navigate his way through blinding spots of the cctvs and finally, he's in the elevator, hitting the button up to his destination. All this and for what? They wanted to blackmail Homelander. The team was too keen on asking him what he saw on the tapes and what is exactly his plan but he didn't want to tell them 'yeah, the cunt has a cunt on himself I'm going to see him threatening him to do something or else I'll spread the videos on media' let alone many times Billy masturbated watching them.

The door opens with a soft 'ding' and there he is, even if the camera in the elevator caught him, he'll be out in no time, just a small talk with that monster of a supe and_

Billy freezes in his place when he hear the familiar sounds.. those delicious noises...

"Shit is he..?"

Inside his ear, Frenchie's curious voice asks what's happening there and Billy immediately turns his comm off, shoves it in his back pocket before stepping inside the room.

He's right there, bare and beautiful lying between sheet and fuck.. isn't that a sight?

His legs open and he's thrusting a toy inside that tight pussy, wet sounds with sweet scent of his sex fills the room with every move of his wrist and Billy's dazed, unable to move a muscle. Eyes locked on that pretty, squirming figure on the bed.

He keeps his distance from him but it's getting more hard with every moan and whines the supe lets out, clearly lost in his mind and eyes staring above. When Billy looks up he notices he's looking at his own reflection and smiling.

Crazy cunt has a thing for seeing himself.

He gets a hold of himself, ignores his own throbbing cock stirring awake, ready to raise his voice when the blond's broken voice interrupts him 'please please, I need to, I fucking, I need...'

Beautiful thighs trembling with how intense he cums, little scream he lets out when it happens and oh God... Lord have mercy but Billy now has many other plans in head, he wants to taste that slick-covered fingers, bury his face between those legs and make him scream his name in that breathless voice of his, the supe only needs a firm hand and someone that knows how to pound him in the sheets that he can't tell the difference of black and white.

Maybe going soft on him even, eat that pretty pussy out then turn him around and slide inside slowly, letting the cunt feel every inch of him, bottoms up as he pulls at those blond strands.

Stepping closer to bed but still cautious if the fucker wanted to attack him... though Billy doubts he can even move a muscle at this point. Eyes fixated on spasming folds hugging around the toy, dripping slick onto the white sheet below

"Oi, cunt.."

Voice has a smug tilt to it when he announces his presence, already reaching down to pull himself free.

mixed feelings on this one, didn't come out quite as i fully envisaged whilst lying around in bed last night

but hey ho, it's sticking in my mind and won't go away so here we go

may rewrite at some point

guided mirrorlander masturbation under the cut, translander (i'm obsessed currently), knotting

A whimper. 

Hand resting on the base of a bit of silicone that was pushing inside of him, threatening to split him open, cunt devouring it with a desperation. 

i bet you can take that knot.

A shake of his head. 

He’s watching with a hunger in his eyes. His cock is solid, dripping, leaking, eyes fixated on his lower half. Would-be cock, erect, hard, untouched by his command, aching. And the large knot of the cock in his hand threatening to go inside of his soaking cunt. 

you don’t want to take that knot for me?

‘Please.’

Knew, knew when that word was slipping out of that mouth, he’d won. That knot would be in him in minutes. 

you can’t touch yourself until you’ve taken that knot. i know you can do it, big boy. do it for me.

That other hand gripping the sheets desperately. He’d do anything for that voice. Do anything for that reflection. It took a moment, but he took a deep breath, and he started to push. Looking to his other self, who now had red in his eyes, was now stroking himself desperately as the one he strove to protect, the one he loved, was pushing himself into oblivion. 

He almost came when he watched that knot disappear into that cunt. 

So full. So loud. There he lay on the bed, squirming, clenching around that thick knot. 

‘Please. Please, I need to, I fucking, I need…’

His own eyes lighting up, reflecting the fire in his reflection. Flickering, on, off… 

touch.

The reflection was stroking with a ferocity. 

come.

Straight from gripping the bed to his aching length, grip moving around, and that first stroke, that slip of skin over his sensitive clit head…

He came. He came with a scream, a twist, a blast of heat, pushing the dildo deeper, everything hitting everywhere at once. And again, so sensitive but so fucking needy.

beautiful.

A third time, thrusting above the bed, until it faded.

Remaining there, naked, holding himself, throbbing around the knot as his reflection stared back at him. 

Oh, but he was.

[rogue-barnes-16]

HOLD STILL

Summary: While in a dangerous mission, the comms stop working, which makes Natasha unable to contact her teammate when she got injured.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff-ish

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @1a-girl-has-no-name1 @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack @butifulsoul125 @unlikelygalaxygiver

Warnings: language, wounds

A/N: this is number five, the number of the drafts you picked in third place. Basically, this author note is for telling you that I got the idea from this post, and that if you guys want me to do more wlw fics, let me know in a comment. I'm not really asking for requests bc I got a fair amount waiting for me to write them, but you can write down a pairing you want me to write about. Love you guys <3.

Rogue-barnes-16 masterlist

I burst into the safe house we had agreed on meeting in, just in case shit went south and we had no choice but split up.

Damn our luck, that's exactly what happened.

When I thought the situation couldn't get worse, it did, because no matter how hard I tried for my comm to work, it wouldn't cooperate.

Maybe it wasn't my comm, maybe it was Natasha's. Maybe she was just out of range, taking the long way. Either ways, I had no way to make sure she was okay.

I reassured myself repeating in my head that it was Natasha Romanoff who I was talking about, it was the Black Widow. She was a skilled spy and assassin, she was a perfect liar.

She was okay.

She had to be okay.

I sat in the only bed inside the cabin, the top of my tactic gear off, with my gun besides me. I was waiting for Nat to cross that door in front of me, because I knew she was alright, but I needed to see it.

Thousands of dark thoughts invaded my mind, taking the place of the hopes I had been having for a few minutes already, really dark thoughts.

Because I had left without her, and if something happened to her, it was on me, because I had left her.

And if something had happened to her, if something had happened to Natasha, then I would lose my mind, because even if I refused to say it, even if I refused to talk about it with anyone, she had, at some point, became the light I didn't know I needed.

No, nothing happened to her, that wouldn't be fair, not after all she went through, not after all I went through.

It was just not fair, and that's the reason I realized something had happened to her. No one was fair for us.

My awful, depressing train of thought was broken by the sound of rushed steps towards the safe house's door. I stood up, grabbed my gun, and took a step forward waiting for whoever it was.

The door flung open to let my eyes see the redhead I had been thinking about. The redhead that was now pressing the side of her abdomen, leaning against the door frame.

She let out a shaky sigh of relief once had glanced at me, and muttered a quiet 'you're okay' with her eyes shut.

The hand that had been aiming the gun at the door fell limply to my side after I processed it was her. It took me a hot second to acknowledge the reason for her position.

"Nat..."

"Yeah..." she mumbled, pressing the wound harder before attempting to step in my direction, which was a pretty bad idea since, if I hadn't had good reflexes, she would have fallen. "fuck!"

"I got you" I whispered, passing her arm over my shoulders to help her get to the bed. "can you take off your suit?" she nodded with her eyes closed "okay, I'll go to see what's on the first aid kit."

"you got hurt?" she asked from the bed, her voice sounding strained due to the pain the wound was causing her.

"No, I'm just fine" I dismissively replied, not really lying. A few bad bruises couldn't be compared to what had happened to her.

I came back to the bed with the supplies I could find to take care of her wound, and she had upper half of her catsuit off, which left her in her black bra.

I looked away as fast as I could.

"okay, let's fix this." I kneeled before her to have a clear view of the wound, which, to my surprise, was caused by a knife and not by a gun.

"how does it look?" she asked, struggling not to press her hand against it. When she seemed like giving in, I took one of my hands to her wrist to hold it away from the wound. "be honest."

"It... doesn't look good." I confessed, letting go of her hand to reach for a cloth I had wet to clean around the wound. "but it doesn't look that bad I promise."

"I believe you." she replied, shifting her position slightly for me to have a better access to the wound.

"I'm sorry." I blurted out, not daring to look up at her, since I knew she was already looking at me. "should've waited for you."

"I'm glad you left." her answer was confusing at the same time as reassuring. "You're safe and that's all that matters."

I stopped moving the moment those last words left her mouth.

She noticed.

"you got the intel." she clarified. "that's all that matters." I nodded, somehow disappointed at her explanation.

"Good news" I announced, passing the wet cloth over her wound as gently and slowly as I could. "It almost stopped bleeding by itself." she whispered an 'okay'.

"did you find something to clean the wound?" I looked up at her with warnings eyes before reaching for a bottle of alcohol I had fought under the first aid kit. "oh boy. This is going to hurt."

I didn't even bother on trying to deny it, because it was just so obvious. "just take a deep breath and tell me if it's too much." she replied with a couple of quick nods, already tensed and waiting for the cloth now soaked in alcohol to reach her skin.

Her breath hitched the moment the the alcohol made contact with her wound, and even though she tried not to move, she ended up trying to move away involuntarily.

I rapidly retreated the cloth and lifted my gaze to check on her.

Natasha's green eyes stayed shut for a second, while she took a deep, shaky breath. "Nat?"

"I'm okay." she whispered, gripping the bedsheets. "keep going, I'm fine." the redhead assured me, with her eyes now open.

I pursed my lips in a thin line, my eyebrows frowned with worry. "alright... I'll try to be quick. Why don't you try to lay down?" she gave me a brief nod and I helped her recline on the matress in a way that she still was able to make eye contact with me. "just... Hold still."

Her hand was right besides mine, and I tried to focus on the wound instead of looking at the strength with which she fisted the sheets, her muscles tensed.

The cloth came back to the wound, and this time, I didn't stop when I heard Natasha's breath hitched, nor when ragged pants started to leave her lips against her will.

No, I didn't stop, just because I didn't want her to keep hurting for long, and in order to accomplish that I had to finish quick.

Only when her fingers wrapped around my wrist to pull it away from her wound, only when she sat up way too fast, I stopped.

"wait, please." she blurted out, with her limbs shaking.

"I'm sorry." I whispered apologetically. "I really gotta finish. Just hold still for a second okay?" She nodded again, taking a deep breath after muttering a 'fuck'. "Lay down, baby."

Oh gosh.

I had not just called Natasha Romanoff baby.

I had not just pet named the woman I loved.

We stayed there in silence for an instant too long for my liking, in which Natasha's pupils dug into mines and her hand fell from my wrist as if she was scared of what I could have meant.

But her fear almost looked like hope.

"I- Y/n-"

"Natasha" I called her name with my cheeks burning, returning my attention to the wound, which looked way better already. "Lay down"

She complied in silence, and this time her eyes were fixed on the ceiling instead of in me.

I tried to forget what had just happened, for me, and for her, and I finished cleaning the wound and proceeded to patch it up.

At first I didn't notice, but Natasha's long, thin fingers, slowly approached my hand until they were lazily intertwined with mines.

I tried to ignore it at first, but I couldn't help but to hold her hand.

"I need you to sit up for a second."

I turned around to grab the bandages and came back to my original position, just to see her already sat.

Without a single word, I kneeled on the bed and made her lift her arms for me to bandage her wound. "okay" I spoke with my hands behind her, passing the bandage from her back to her front. "you can put them down again."

Both of her hands landed on my cheeks, and I saw that fear which had been in her eyes just a couple of seconds ago, that same fear that almost looked like hope.

"Y/n" the way she whispered my name made my cheeks blush and my heart to pound against my chest.

"Nat" licking her lips, she passed her thumbs over my jaw. "think about it." I warned her, looking for any kind of hesitancy hidden somewhere in her gaze.

She quickly shook her head no. "not this time."

"Natasha—"

Her lips ghosted over mines, not really kissing them.

She was waiting for me to agree on this.

I closed the gap, taking my hand to the back of her neck while our lips danced against one another's.

Her hands left my cheeks to travel to my chest, briefly massaging my breasts and making me pant before going for the hem of the tank top, lifting it in an attempt to get it off me.

My the hand that had been on her neck as an extra support for her traveled up to her red waves, tangling it's fingers with them before giving her a gentle tug that teared a muffled moan out of her.

I didn't quite know which movement was, but it made her gasp quite loud, due to the pain that it had triggered.

It was then that I pulled away, resting my forehead against hers. "can't do this right now. You gotta rest."

Her pupils, now blown, observed me for a second, thinking if my order was the best option.

"Natasha."

"No"

"No what?"

She chewed her lower lip, hesitant about her answer. "nothing."

While I helped her lay down, I realized what she had meant with 'no'.

I pulled away from her face a few strands of her before pecking her lips. "rest baby."

Her hand pulled me to the bed with her and, as soon as I lay down, she gave me a sweet kiss.

[lavender-lotion]

Heyooo this is too long for the message in the commission but I'm Dani who just bought you two coffees :) , I've been reading your fics and I really like them so instead of just sending a prompt I thought "I'll buy two coffees so can share with someone" ;) so here it goes! Married peter/ned (so around 24 yrs old?) , with NED being presumed dead (most or all of the fics have peter injured but never Ned which really? He's a soft human) so basically angst angst angst hehe (to be continued)

hehe idk maybe the world almost ended and lots of buildings destroyed (including their apartment) and/or the last time someone saw Ned was before tragedy happened idk i'm not really creative. But basically for a few days (or lots of hours) Peter thinks his husband is dead and he can't process/can't deal with the grief. Happy ending tho cause Ned was somewhere or just injured enough he couldn't contact him. Plus Tony/May being his support and maybe finding Ned in a hospital or whatever (tobecont) Anyways long prompt hehe I dont have any social media so just post it to your tumblr/ao3 and I'll check it out :) thank you! Love u lots 

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and here it is! thank you for the prompt and thank you even more for the coffees! i am Struggling financially lmao so every little bit means so much

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not all tears are an evil

Teen And Up Audiences | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | M/M | Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) | Ned Leeds/Peter Parker | Peter Parker, (Mentioned Ned Leeds), Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) | Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning

“Peter, buddy, we found him.”

Read here on AO3 or continue below the cut!

His hands are shaking. He can’t get them to stop. Tony and May have made sure he keeps his sugars up, filling him with fruit and water every few hours. Peter eats and drinks whatever they give him, too numb to protest. He’s—he’s too numb for anything. He tucks his hands deeper into the too-long sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing, nosing at the collar and taking a deep breath of the familiar scent. 

The last time he’d caught the gleam of metal on his left hand, he’d had a panic attack. 

The monitor in front of him plays the same footage over again. Peter doesn’t notice anything new. He’s been watching the apartment's security feed for...Peter isn’t very good with time right now, but his eyes sting every time he closes them to blink. Probably a while, then. His eyes flick to the other monitor when the video of his building exploding restarts again.

Nothing. There’s nothing there. No one leaves the building for the entire hour before the explosions begin, and no one leaves right before it’s hit and crumples into a pile of useless debris. Ned was at home, studying for a final he had coming up and begging off from the lunch date Peter had asked him on. Peter was only out because his internship with Tony had become official a few years ago, and he had to put in hours when he could. 

They had been in the workshop, him and Tony, when the alarms had sounded. Peter wonders if he’ll ever be absolved of the guilt he feels for not being there, for not being in the apartment, for not being able to protect him when he needed him. 

He doesn’t think so. Peter, Spider-Man, has failed before but...never like this. He’s never lost the one that means the most to him, more than Tony and May and his whole existence as Spider-Man. May’s worried about him even if she doesn’t say it. She hasn’t left him alone yet, not since they all got the threat under control and Peter had swung back to his apartment only to find it gone. 

The next breath he takes shudders through him, but he doesn’t cry. Not after the night he spent sobbing into sheets that didn’t smell right in a bed that was too big and too empty. It hurts, everywhere, a crushing weight over his heart that feels like it’s going to swallow him whole until he’s nothing but grief and despair and longing. 

He deserves it, he thinks idly. He should have been there. He should have gone home for lunch instead of grabbing something with Tony when Ned said he was going to stay in. In his vows, he had promised to protect him till death do they part, but he never would have thought...

Fuck, they’re only twenty-four. 

Peter takes another deep breath and wonders when he’ll stop. It doesn’t feel right for him to be sitting there, heart pumping and lungs filling with oxygen when the only reason he has for waking up every morning is gone. 

“Peter?” Tony’s voice cackles through the comm that is still tucked into Peter’s ear. He hums something in answer, watching the third screen that shows the alleyway behind his apartment as it gets filled with chunks of concrete and broken glass: the remains of his home. “Peter, buddy, we found him.”

“You...you did?” his voice cracks. The words seem far away, distorted. Peter can barely make sense of them. 

“Yeah, Pete, and he’s alive we’re—” The rest is white noise that doesn’t matter as a sob bubbles out of his chest, a loud, broken noise that tears through his throat. May is there in an instant, hurrying into the room and tucking Peter to her chest, and she takes the comm out of his ear while Peter babbles something that doesn’t make much sense. He doesn’t try to listen to what she says, focusing on the familiar smell of her and the strong arm holding him close. 

When she pulls away, Peter looks at her through eyes blurred with tears, gasping for breath as his chest splits back open wide enough to fit an entire lifetime worth of love he thought he’d lost. 

“Peter, baby, they found Ned and he’s alive,” May tells him, hands holding his cheeks and staring into his eyes and Peter breaks down, another cry scratching out of his throat as he gives up and his body slumps forward into May’s arms. Peter doesn’t know anything but the crushing elation in his chest, and three simple words rolling over and over in his mind as he clutches to the only family he had for so long until he got down on one knee and asked for more. 

They found Ned.

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